Implied Connections
by Braidless Baka
Summary: Evidence tying Sara with a homicide turns up at a crime scene, planted, but there none-the-less. So, someone's trying to frame a CSI. But, can the others find out who in time? [Greg Angst]
1. Say What?

Implied Connections Chapter 1 – Say What? 

**By: **Braidless Baka

**Disclaimer:** I don't need a disclaimer, since I obviously own CSI, and I -- *watches the flying pig* Oh… no fooling you guys huh?  Okay, well, I only own Greg ^_^;; … Well… no… I don't own anything… as much as I would _love_ to own Greg O_o;;

**A/N:** Well… This isn't a Greg fic, though it may morph into one.  This chapter _hasn't_ been beta-ed, although it has been checked for spelling-errors and such.

**A/N2: **Many thanks to _Sandpiper_ for pointing out my XX/XY mistake ^_~ Science was never my strong suit – so thanks for that!

**A/N3: **Ahh, I'm so sloppy O_o;; Just so people know, I'm going through and changing the premise for the murder.  What I claimed to be a shooting I've somehow managed to turn into a beating.  My bad, and I apologise ~_~;;  This is the third time this chapter's been reuploaded…

~~~~~~

For once, Greg was working in silence.

It was late, several hours into the shift.  And already the lab tech was snowed under with stuff to do, DNA to analyse, evidence shuffling back and forth through the underground tunnels of the justice system.  Known officially as the Las Vegas crime lab.  Usually having some sort of beat helped the brunette keep on top of what he was doing.  Some noise to break the silence; some kind of rhythm to keep him on track.  But today he had a bad feeling.  He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but something always did when he felt like this.  And he certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

Absently, he waited for a print out to come out of the laser printer beside him.  There was other stuff he really should be doing, but waiting by the printer was seeming like the best option at that point.  He took it up as soon as it was done, the paper still warm in his hands.  Casting a quick eye, he looked at the results, the same way he always did before paging someone with their results.  It was a homicide case Sara and Warrick were working on.  They figured it was bank robbery gone wrong, and so far all their evidence seemed to fit.  The brief run through CODIS hadn't pulled up anything, but if you gave them time they'd figure it out.  XX chromosomes though, definitely female.  If nothing that'd give them a head start.

With no haste whatsoever, Greg paged Sara, and then set the print out aside to start something else, something left over from dayshift most likely.  His work was absently done, almost mechanical, and not for the first time he dwelled on the results he'd just pulled.  He was usually privy to quite a lot of the musings of the graveyard team, if not officially, then by way of "thinking aloud", and he knew a decent amount about this robbery case due to Sara's "thinking aloud" in his direction the night before.  He even knew enough to start drawing his own conclusions about it.  The very realisation that he was 'pulling conclusions' made him wonder if he was _really_ going to be watching samples of blood dissolve into DNA for the rest of his life, and with a kind of vigour he took the sample and continued to analyse it, attentive, but uninterested.

He finished on that, and then looked up, suddenly realising that Sara should've come for her results by now.  She wasn't out of the building as far as he knew, and as he did, he saw Warrick striding down the corridor, leafing through a file.

"Hey, Warrick!"

Warrick looked up at Greg's voice, watching him trying to hastily, yet carefully, put down what he was working with.  With a preoccupied look he walked into the lab.  "Yeah?  You got something?"

Greg nodded, suddenly realising he didn't have the paper in his hand and looking for it, locating it and snatching it up to present to the CSI in front of him.  Warrick's weary gaze wandered over the print for a few seconds before he spoke.  "Woman?"

"Uh-huh," agreed Greg with a nod.  "No CODIS match for you though."

"Tell me there's more."

Greg simply shrugged and shook his head.  "Sorry, man.  Nothing."

Warrick sighed, then nodded and turned to leave.  On an impulse Greg spoke quickly, causing the taller to turn back to face him.  "Where's Sara?  She didn't come when I paged her."

"She's… busy right now, Greg."

Greg blinked at the quiet hesitance.  The words '_Who are you and what did you do with Warrick?_' sprung quickly to mind.  But all he said was, "Are you okay?  You seem a little…" he waved a hand casually to illustrate his point.  "Distant, I guess is the word."

Warrick paused for a moment, not really sure what to say about it.  "You know the case Nick, Grissom and Cath are working on?"

Greg nodded.  They'd gotten it a few days ago.  "Sure."  At Warrick's expectant pause the tech continued.  "Homicide out in Spring Valley.  Blunt trauma wound to the back of the head, right?"

Mildly unsettled, but not surprised, at Greg's knowledge of the case, Warrick nodded.  "Wealthy family, the husband's the owner of Vegas Denki."

"Denki, huh?"  He paused for a moment in thought.  "Electrics?"

Warrick frowned slightly.

Greg then smiled in mild embarrassment.  "Denki's a Japanese word.  Means "electrics", I think it's a corporate thing."

Warrick nodded, amused despite himself.  "Well, whatever it means…" He trailed off with a slight pause before continuing.  "They found traces of Sara's hair and shoe prints at the crime scene.  She's got a temporary suspension."

Greg took a few seconds to process this information.  "But that's not even Sara's case right?  Has she ever been to the crime scene?"

Warrick shook his head, no she hadn't.  He sighed slightly, his unsettled and almost distressed aura suddenly understandable.

"So… how…?"

"They don't know," Warrick admitted, shrugging.  Greg noted with interested how Warrick distanced himself from the case.  The word "they" as opposed to "we" strangely apparent.  "So, until they figure it out, page me with any results, okay?"

Greg nodded, his brown eyes seeming to have taken a hue of worry.  "Sure thing."

He watched as Warrick turned to leave, and then suddenly a thought struck him.

"Hey Warrick?"

Again the CSI turned to him, this time from the doorway.  "Yeah?"

"Who's filling Sara's shoes while she's gone?  We're understaffed as it is."  Silently, almost feverishly, Greg was praying for Warrick to tell him that Greg was going to do it.  That he could get out of the lab and they'd send someone else in to do the lab work.

Warrick could almost see that in the tech's eyes.  And personally, even though he probably had the smallest 'relationship' with Greg, he'd prefer it to go that way.  "A 'Rachel Simmons'," he said quietly, watching Greg for a reaction.

The reaction was small, almost undetectable.  Of course it wasn't going to be him.  He wasn't even level one yet; they'd have to get someone with more experience in.  All Greg had been allowed to do so far was watch over someone else's shoulder.  But there's always a first time for everything, and he'd hoped…

But no.

"Rachel, huh?  I'll make sure I say hi."

The unspoken understanding of that was, '_I hope she'll not be here long._'

"Yeah, you should do that."

Another unspoken understanding as they both read into each other's meanings.  '_Me too._'


	2. Conflicting Opinions

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 2 – Conflicting Opinions**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Heh… the fight for Greg continues ^_~ (Still don't own him… or CSI… now, let's move along shall we? ^_~)

**A/N:** I apologise about that fact that this is about as much Sara as you will see for a long time.  She and Warrick are the hardest characters for me to write… although you should expect some of Sara musing to herself round about chapter 5 or 6 ^_~  So, be a responsible reader and review ^_^;;

~~~

"But this is insane!"

Nonplussed, Grissom watched as Sara glared at him over his desk.  He kept her fiery gaze, his own gaze level over the top of his glasses.  "Not insane Sara," he said eventually.  "Sensible, maybe."

"Grissom, I was _never_ there!  I didn't do it!"

Quietly, Gil sighed.  He knew she hadn't done it.  Everyone in his team knew it.  But the evidence doesn't lie.  It never had, and it will never start.  And that meant there was an explanation for the presence of Sara's hair and her, usually unworn, sneaker prints.  There were three options.  The first, the one that was immediately discarded, being that Sara actually had been in the house.  Whether it was before or after the homicide was almost irrelevant.  She said she had nothing to do with it, and he believed her.  The second, again unlikely, was that they'd gotten there accidentally.  Her hair snagged something that was then taken to the crime scene.  That didn't explain the shoe-prints, but it was still possible.

The third, and in Grissom's mind the most likely, was that the evidence had been planted.  So it wasn't lying, it just had a _different_ story to tell.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He hadn't been, but without missing a beat Grissom nodded, able to guess what she'd been talking about.  "It doesn't matter whether you were there or not Sara.  It would be serious misconduct if I didn't give you a suspension.  And you know it."

"I've been framed!" she declared, slamming an open palm on the table, making a slapping sound against it, more in frustration than in an attempt to be intimidating.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?!"  Sara paused then, her mouth open in disbelief.  "You don't seriously think…"  She paused again, apparently speechless.  Then, glaring, she turned with a mutter.  "I don't have to put up with this."

"No," came Grissom's clipped tone, suddenly on a calculated defensive.  "No Sara, you don't.  But you _do_ have to sit this one out.  At least a week."

She turned back to him, her short hair flicking out angrily with the movement.  "A week?!  And what am I supposed to do for a week?"

"Go home?" Grissom suggested with a shrug.  "Watch TV?  Relax?"  He paused.  "Maybe sleep?"

"Funny Grissom.  Real funny."

"Glad you think so."  After a pause, Gil continued.  "For what it's worth, I'm sorry.  But you and I both know this is the only way nightshift can keep the case.  You can't work on a case that incriminates you Sara.  Don't you remember why you came up here in the first place?"

That statement stopped the woman, angry as she was.  He was right.  They _did_ both know it.  But that didn't make the thought that she was being framed any easier to take.  "Sure, I remember.  But that was different."

"Only marginally so."

They watched each other carefully.  Waiting for someone to say something.

Finally Sara caved.  "A week.  I'm holding you to that."

"A week before I tell you whether you have to take another week."

For an instant Grissom thought she was going to argue.  But then she just shook her head.  "Fine.  But still, a week.  Just one."

"Just one."

"All right."  Sara sighed, standing straight from her aggressive stance over Grissom's desk.  "I can handle a week."

"You're sure about that?"

Sara smiled at what was obviously a joke.  A shaky smile.  A smile that said she was only doing it to keep the peace, and that she was physically screaming inside.  But a smile none-the-less.  "Not really.  But I can try, right?"

Grissom nodded, rising from his desk, indicating that their business was finished.  He wanted to get to the bottom of this quickly, to get Sara back to work.

Sara understood the gesture as well, her smile still clinging to her face.  "Well, I'm going to go home now."

Grissom nodded.  "You should."

There was a brief pause between them for a moment, which was sharply shattered as Nick, of all people, knocked on the door.  "Hey, Griss?"  He looked in to see them, Sara looking shaky, and Gil looking at Nick questioningly.  Nick continued, his tone cautious.  "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Grissom shook his head.  "No, what is it?"

"There's a woman at the front desk.  Rachel Simmons."  He paused.  "You know her?"

Grissom nodded, trying not to look at Sara as he spoke.  "Our temp."

Nick clicked at that point, nodding in a silent "Oooooh".

"Temp?  Like, my replacement?"

"No Sara."  Grissom's words were plain.  "You're not being replaced, because you'll be back in a few weeks."

"Sure."

Nick moved to let her past as she left.  She wasn't upset anymore, she was angry.  Quietly, Nick watched her move swiftly up the corridor before turning to Grissom with a low whistle.  "What's up with her?"

"She's just been suspended Nick," said Gil curtly.  "She's entitled to be upset."  He paused for a moment, his filing-cabinet style brain ordering what had just happened.  "For now, let's just go meet Ms. Simmons."  After they'd taken a few steps up the corridor, Grissom continued, "How did she seem to you?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, nervous?  Agitated?  A nice person?"

Nick shrugged.  "She seemed eager to get on with the job.  It's not like I got to know her intimately."

"I'd hope not.  I doubt that'd be appropriate."

Nick's face held something that could be likened to a smirk as he replied.  "You think so?"

"I _know_ so, Nick."

"Well, damn.  You got me there, Griss."

"I've been trying so hard.  It's about time it paid off."


	3. Your Mission, Mr Bond

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 3 – Your mission, Mr Bond…**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Yes, I now own Greg! Muwaha! *twitch* Or not, whichever works O_o;; Nor do I own the great song by Avril Lavigne, "My World", that Greg chucks into the CD player.  Well I do own it… but not the copyright O_o;; So… umm… There ya go, I guess O_o;;  Oh yeah, 'Mission Impossible' and the James Bond movies aren't mine either – not that I would want the James Bond movies…

**A/N:** Just in regard to the statement that I should have more "case chapters" I'm warning y'all that there're no case chapters until around chapter 6 or 7.  I do a lot of character set up.

~~~~~

Rachel Simmons, Grissom realised when he came within eyeshot, was going to be one of their younger members.  Tall, and pretty, with long, blonde hair.  She had her back to himself and Nick, talking animatedly to the receptionist and seemed confident, which was always good.  There was, however, no caution to her stance, which was worrying.  Almost like, Gil thought distractedly, she was being deliberately confident.  Perhaps afraid of being found out?  But of what…?

Or maybe he was going over the top, and psychoanalysing everything down to the tiniest detail again.  Which was infinitely more likely.

Nick was the first of them to speak, evidently having met her before going to hunt down his supervisor.  "Ms Simmons?"

She turned towards them, and looked a little flustered.  She hadn't seen them coming, but still… she looked a little too flustered.  "Call me Rachel, please."

"Ms Simmons," started Gil pointedly ignoring her request for the moment, and suddenly aware that he had his 'dealing-with-suspects' voice on.  "I hear you're our new hand on the nightshift?"

She nodded, offering her hand to shake.  "Rachel Simmons," she said, as Gil took it, a little cautiously.

"Gil Grissom," he countered, releasing her hand.  "Nightshift supervisor."

"Ahh, you're my new boss?"  She paused with a smile.  "Well Mr. Grissom, I've heard lots about you."

"I'm sure that, whatever it is, it's not true," he said, attempting some good humour and practising those people skills Catherine insisted needed work.  The revelation that he'd been heard of disturbed Grissom somewhat.  It would disturb him from anyone, but someone he'd never met before saying they'd heard of him seemed a little dramatic.  "You ready to start now?"

"Ready when you want me," she replied, smiling that over-confident smile.

Grissom paused slightly, wondering where to go with this next.  "Well, Ms Simmons-"

"Rachel," she interrupted.  "Please call me Rachel."

"Rachel."  The word was a consent, not a submission, but anything to make his life easier.  "I'd appreciate it if you'd pair up with Warrick Brown, if I get Nick to take you to the break room and you can meet him there."  He paused, watching her for a reaction.  She only nodded, indicating she understood.  "Are you okay with that?"

"I'm fine with anything.  You're the supervisor after all."

He was used to his CSIs being… he paused, trying to think of the right word… 'human' was one that sprung to mind.  Not automatic.  If she was trying to make a good impression, she wasn't entirely succeeding.

"Well Nick, if you would?"

Nick nodded, having hardly spoken until now.  "Okay, break room right?"

"Yes, Nick.  Break room."

With that the supervisor left, leaving Nick with Rachel.  A pause lingered between them before Rachel broke the silence.  "Are we just standing around all day?"  Her words were punctuated by a light chuckle, characteristic of embarrassment.

Nick, suddenly realising that he'd just been staring at her, laughed as well.  "Hey, let me show you around."

"Like a guided tour?"

Shaking his head, Nick continued the laugh.  "Something like that.  Come on," he continued, beckoning to her.

~~~

The evening had worn on, slowly but surely, for Greg.  By now he had his stereo on, and was nodding his head unconsciously to the beat.  Maybe tonight wasn't going to be such a bad night after all.  Sara was suspended, that was definitely a bad thing.  However, it was something that would be worked out in time.  It wasn't half as bad as the knot in his stomach had told him it would be.  And he'd already pulled himself out of dayshift's rubbish, a decent way into his own already.

Grinning, he suddenly wheeled across the lab on his swivel chair, having decided to change the music.  There was one there that he wanted to listen to, one of the dayshift techs must've left it.  He picked up the CD case, and looked at it for a while before popping the cover open and pulling out the disc and skipping straight to track ten.

_Please tell me what is takin' place,  
Cuz I can't seem to find a trace,  
Guess it must have got erased somehow,  
  
_

Humming to himself, he put the track on repeat, and proceeded to skid back across the lab, towards the printer, which was spitting out a piece of paper as he arrived at a halt.  He pulled it out almost before the printer had let go of it, and scrutinised it, as always taking advantage of being the first to see results.

It was blood from the Spring Valley case.  And, surprise, surprise, it wasn't Sara's blood.  Nor was it the victim's, nor did it bare even the slightest resemblance to the victim's DNA.  So, nope, it wasn't the blood-relatives either.  However, as Greg well knew, just because this evidence didn't implicate blood-relatives, it didn't mean that none of the evidence would.

_Please tell me what is takin' place,  
Cuz I can't seem to find a trace,  
Guess it must have got erased somehow,_

He smiled a little at the irony, as the track hit the end and started up again just as he was thinking the same thought.  "Not bad," he murmured, turning to take in the CD player appreciatively.  "Not bad at all.  We may get to know each really well, my friend."

"Hey, Greggo!"

Blinking, Greg turned to see Nick leaning in around the doorframe, a pretty blonde standing behind him.  He turned in the swivel chair, his feet barely touching the floor.  "Hey, what can I do ya for?"

"Thought you'd like to meet Sara's temp."  He beckoned the blonde in.  "Rachel Simmons."

_Probably cuz I always forget,  
Everytime someone tells me their name,  
It's always gotta be the same._

"Rachel, huh?"  Greg cocked his head slightly, taking her in and building up an impression of her.  Then he stood, peeling off one of his gloves and offered his hand to her.  "Greg Sanders, local labrat."

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling warmly at him.  She was, noted Greg suddenly, being a _very_ smiley person.  Although that wasn't a bad thing, but it was a strange thing.

"Competition?" he said aloud, looking to Nick for confirmation.  Nick of course, being Nick, got it instantly and nodded.  Rachel, though, didn't.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just you're…" Greg indicated his own mouth to stress his point.  "You're grinning a lot.  Making me look bad.  I'm a labrat, but I'm also a part-time clown."  He smiled slightly, and shrugged, before pulling the glove back on.  "Oh Nick, while you're here, I've got something for you."

"Oh, yeah?"  Nick moved forward, instantly interested, and taking the offered piece of paper without comment.

"Not Sara, but there's no CODIS match, which is something I seem to keep saying today."  Greg took a sigh of breath in thought.  "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to get me some comparisons."

"What's his name?  Bond?" said Rachel, smiling, but perhaps not as much as before.

Greg noticed this, but hardly skipped a beat.  "Nope, Hunt, but close.  Very close."

"It was a Mission Impossible reference," said Nick, almost apologetically.

"Oh, I see."  Rachel paused uncomfortably.  "I'm not a movie buff, you'll have to forgive me."

Greg shrugged, his opinion of Rachel suddenly becoming a little 'off'.  "Hey, no worries.  I'm the strange one that nobody pretends to understand.  Right, Nick?"

Nick nodded with a smile.  "So they say."

"Wish they'd stop saying it," said Greg, still grinning, if just until the guest, quickly turning invader of his personal bubble, had left.  He turned, still sitting in the chair, to take another page out of the printer to scrutinise it.  "Ruining my rep."

"What rep?"

"Ahh!" replied the tech, turning back and waving the paper at Nick scoldingly.  "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"As a matter of fact-"

"Out!" cried Greg suddenly, getting up and theatrically shooing them.  "Out of my domain!  You're invading my air!"

Nick shook his head in amusement.  "Fine, fine, I'll extract myself from your 'domain'."

"Great, go on, shoo!"

Rachel tried to stifle laughter at the tech's antics, and was failing miserably.  "Well," she said with a chuckle.  "Great to have met you Greg.  Maybe I'll come back and penetrate your domain again sometime."

"You do that I'll have to throw something at you!"  He then lowered his arms, smiling.  "No, seriously, whenever you like.  Just not if you wanna harass me for results.  Although bribing is good.  Be sure to come if you want to bribe me!"

Nick shook his head, and beckoned to Rachel to follow him.  "Come on, we don't want the attention going to his head.  He might escape or something."  He raised his hand to Greg in a farewell, which Greg returned, then turning back to his work thoughtfully.

_In this head my thoughts are deep,  
But sometimes I can't even speak,_

He raised a suspicious eyebrow in the direction of the CD player.  "Psychic CD machines?  There's something you don't see everyday."

_Take some time,  
Mellow out,_

"I'm ignoring you."

_Can't help it if I space in a daze,  
My eyes tune out the other way,  
I may switch off and go in a daydream,_

"Hey!"  It suddenly struck Greg that he was alone in his lab… and talking to a CD player.  That… was not good.  "I'm still ignoring you."  Shaking his head, he turned back to what he was doing, humming along with the song, and even singing along at some points, having already learned the chorus.


	4. Discussions

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 4 – Discussions**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** *wrestles with CBS over the ownership of Greg and CSI – mostly over the ownership of Greg* (Aka, I've not been successful yet, so I own nothing ~_~)

**A/N:** And just so everyone knows, I was getting sick of introducing everyone O_o;; So I hath decided it is time to move on!  Or at least move a few days along – whichever works O_o;;

~~~~

Several days went by like that.  With Catherine, Nick and Grissom working on one case, and Warrick working with Rachel on the other.  The 'Spring Valley case', as it had become affectionately known, was proving to be tougher than had been first thought.

"Blood found at the crime scene, possibly the perp's," said Catherine, moving several sheets of paper around the table the three were sitting at.  "Murder weapon's a mantel ornament – obviously not a bring-your-own deal – left at the scene, but absent of fingerprints."  She lifted the object in question, a large ornamental Buddha, to the light and scrutinised it.  "Practically the only other things left at the scene were Sara's hair and sneaker prints."  She indicated the sneakers with a wave of her hand.

"Do we know they're Sara's?" queried Nick, picking one up and looking at it, as though willing it to inspire him towards the answer.

"We had someone check them out.  Wear-marks are exactly the same."

Catherine glanced at Grissom, who hadn't spoken until this point.  "Did we ID the blood yet?"

Grissom shook his head in response to the question.  "Nothing."

"Okay, so… where does that leave us?"  Catherine glanced around the table hopefully.  "Any theories yet?"

"Maybe."

Catherine glanced towards Nick as he spoke the word cautiously.  "Wanna share?"

"What about… we have the jealous boyfriend of the victim's, she's newly married and not long after a rocky relationship, so-"

"The ex has an alibi."

"I know that, lemme finish."

Catherine nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Okay, so, boyfriend comes round, sometime earlier.  Husband's at work, like he says he was, and the wife and her ex have their argument.  Just like how the boyfriend said it happened.  He goes away, upset, and maybe a little angry."  He paused then, looking up, a thought suddenly striking him.  "Has anyone talked to Sara yet?"

Grissom nodded.  "I called her."

"Anyone connected with the investigation who might have something against her?"

"If there is, then she's not telling."

Nick paused again.  "Maybe it'll be worth getting her in to talk to.  I mean, to talk to her 'officially'."

Catherine and Grissom looked at each other at that point.  What Nick was saying made sense.  They needed a proper environment to conduct this in, not chatting over the phone.  Not that they disbelieved Sara, but there were things you could show someone in an interview that you just couldn't show them over the phone.

"She's not going to like it," murmured Catherine quietly.

"She doesn't have to like it," responded Gil.  "It's procedure.  Nobody ever likes procedure."

There was a quiet silence in the room, before Catherine broke it by clearing her throat gently.  "So, you were saying, Nick?"

"Yeah, so, everything happens like we've been told it did.  And then, maybe someone with a grudge took advantage of the opportunity?  Went into that house, wearing Sara's sneakers, with a handful of her hair, killed our vic knowing how to avoid leaving evidence and planted our 'Sara evidence'."

"You're assuming too much," said Gil after a slight pause.  "Where would they get the hair strands from?"

Nick shrugged, shooting back evenly.  "Where did they get her sneakers from?"

"Another good question," murmured Gil, pointing at Nick thoughtfully with the tip of a biro.  "One that needs answers."  He paused, obviously thinking.  "Okay, we need to get Sara in, tomorrow sometime.  Treat her like a suspect."

"What?"

Gil turned to look at Catherine.  "If we're doing this by the book, we're going the whole way."  He then turned to Nick.  "Any idea how Warrick's case is doing?"

"Rachel says they're getting close."

This comment caused Catherine and Gil to raise an eyebrow.  "Oh?" murmured Catherine.  "_Rachel_ does, does she?"

"What about _Warrick_?" asked Grissom.  "What does he have to say about it?"

"I've barely seen him in the past few days," said Nick sharply, aware of the accusatory tone.  "You'd have to ask him yourself."

"Alright."  The word was accompanied with a nod.  "I'll do that.  The second they're finished I want them on this case.  The more heads the better."

"Did we release the crime-scene yet?" asked Catherine suddenly, causing both the men to look towards her.

"We released it," said Grissom slowly, "but nobody's been in it.  The husband's staying at his parents, and the house is locked up."

"We can still go in though, right?"

Gil nodded.  "He _did_ leave us his keys."

"So it's still fair game for me to go have another look around?"

Again, Gil nodded.  "Sure."  He paused, watching Catherine as she stood up, before speaking again.  "You going alone?"

"Nope, taking someone with me."

"Who?  Rachel?"

Catherine glanced sidelong at Nick, her suspicions suddenly confirmed that every second word coming from his mouth was, in fact, the word 'Rachel'.  "No," she said, with an amount of satisfaction as she made quickly from the room.  "I'm taking Greg."


	5. Judgement & Admission

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 5 – Judgement & Admission**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Ohoh! Guess what?! I got my lawyer on the phone today and… I still can't own Greg… (or CSI for that matter).  Now things have to start getting illegal ^_~

**A/N: **Eek, more character development, but I just _have_ to write stuff down before I go into the case.  This fic's likely to be driven by characters rather than case anyway, but when we go find Greg and Catherine there'll be case stuff there ^_~ The full run-down of our Spring Valley case ^_^

~~~~~~

Warrick, in the meantime, was still working hard on their robbery case.  Nick was right, he figured they were almost finished.  That was, if his hunch was right.  They'd traced a discarded revolver, standard LVPD issue, through fingerprints to one of their suspects.  Why, Warrick asked to himself, would a juvenile be in possession of a police handgun?  They'd matched the prints to the youth, but stealing a police officer's gun didn't automatically make someone a murderer.  He'd sent Rachel to go to ballistics with the recovered weapon and make some test shots to compare it with the gun used in the robbery.

Rachel Simmons.  Now there was a strange girl.  Warrick wasn't usually the one to make judgements, especially where women were concerned.  However, everything Rachel did seemed to put him on edge.  He blamed the fact that she just wasn't Sara.  They'd had their disagreements in the past, but Warrick was at least secure in the fact that Sara was competent, if not especially likeable.  Rachel, while outwardly likeable, seemed to generate something akin to suspiciousness.  It was a feeling he couldn't shake.  No matter how much he tried.

"Hey Warrick?"

He looked up sharply from his thoughts to see Rachel waving a plastic bag at him with their bullet inside.  He mentally pulled his mind back on track, saying, "What did you find?"

"Perfect match," she said, grinning widely.  "We've got our shooter."

Warrick nodded.  "Witnesses placing him there, and the murder weapon in his hands.  We're solid on this one."

"Solid is right!  I mean, I-" she paused suddenly, looking up.  "Oh! Hi Nick."

Nick was leaning on the doorframe, smiling a little _too_ much than was normal for Nick.  "Hey Rachel, how're you guys doing?"

"I think we just cracked it," she said enthusiastically, waving the bag with their evidence in as though to prove her point.

"Yeah," butted in Warrick forcefully, the word holding weight as he said it.  "Yeah, we did."

Nick either ignored, or simply didn't hear, the undertone of Warrick's voice as he continued, "Grissom's going to be pulling you guys onto our case when you're done."

"The one with Sara, right?"  Warrick watched darkly as Rachel spoke, his near-silence seemed to go unnoticed by the other two.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Hey, Nick," murmured Warrick eventually; standing from the chair he was sat in.  "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure.  Why?"

"We need to have a talk.  Now."  Warrick glanced at Rachel.  "In _private_."

It was Rachel's turn to pause, her smile leaving her face for a second to make way for confusion.  "I can go and uhh…"

"Go tell Grissom we're done here," Warrick finished sharply for her.  He figured she knew he didn't like her, so why should he hide it?

"Sure," she said, making for the door.  "Sure I can do that."  She left quickly, her heels making clacking noises as they carried her swiftly down the corridor.

"What was all that about?"

Warrick turned back to Nick, almost having forgotten why he'd effectively evicted Rachel from the room.  "Man," he said sharply, "I don't care how hot you think she is, there's no way you can come in here making googoo eyes at her every goddamnned time you see her."

"What?  I'm not making 'googoo eyes' at anyone."

"I just watched you come in here and do it.  And it's not like it's the first time; you do it _all the time_.  Man, I need you to loosen up a little for me, okay?"

Nick frowned, obviously not having expected such an assault.  "I'm being nice to her.  It's more than you've been from what I can tell."

"What I'm being is professional.  What you're being is _stupid_.  You need to work out the difference, okay?"

Nick could've handled a lot of things, but when he was directly called 'stupid' was when he placed his limits.  "So, I'm being stupid?" he demanded sharply, no longer leaning against the doorframe, but having pushed himself off it in order to glare Warrick down.  "By being nice to a co-worker I'm being stupid?  I don't see how that works."

"Well I do."  Warrick frowned slightly, now aware of his own hypocrisy, but unwilling to let this one drop.  "I've got a bad feeling about her, okay?  Ever since she got here."

"You think she's got something to do with the case?"  By 'the case' it was obvious Nick was referring to the Spring Valley case.

"I didn't say that," responded Warrick, his tone sharp.

"You were going to."

"I'm not gonna make accusations."

"Just because you don't like her doesn't give you rights to warn off everyone who does."

Warrick sighed, aware of how quickly this could escalate.  "Do you like her?  You really aren't getting any bad vibes off all this?"

"No."  The reply was quick and blunt.

Warrick shrugged.  "Then make like I never said anything."

"You're going to make like nothing ever happened?"

Again, Warrick shrugged broadly.  "As long as you quit ignoring everyone else in the room when she's around, I really don't care."

"I don-"

"Yes, you do."  The interruption came with Warrick's stern glare.  "Seriously, you do.  And you've got to stop doing it, or you'll start ignoring the case.  And if you ignore the case Sara's suspension could become permanent."

"So, now you're blaming me for Sara's suspension?  What's gotten into you?!"

Warrick looked at the ceiling as he tried to keep himself calm.  He wasn't going to get into a fight over this, he'd already decided that much.  He'd hate to have to explain his point to say, Catherine, or worse, Grissom.  And he'd forgotten how personally Nick took things like this.  "All I'm saying is don't go nuts over the blonde, all right?  Promise me you'll keep things in perspective."

It wasn't a question, but a statement.  But, Nick was angry now.  And anyone walking into the room could've seen it.  Warrick's hostility, while not evident on his face, was easily evident by his demeanour.  Perhaps this was what enraged Nick, who was usually the most easy-going of the pair.  The argument was senseless, the accusation unwarranted.  And perhaps, silently, he could admit there was a little jealousy there too.

Eventually, after several second's silence, Warrick sighed.  He picked up some papers and made to move past Nick.  Nick, seeing this, moved to block his way.  Warrick watched him quietly.  "I don't wanna make a fight out of this, man."

"Why'd you start one then?"

"Seriously, don't make this into a big thing."

Nick's voice held bound fury.  "Just because you say it doesn't matter, then it doesn't matter?  Is that how we're playing this now?"

"I'm not playing anything.  I'm telling you something.  Whether you listen or not is something I can't influence, and I won't try to."  He paused.  "Now just let me past, okay?"

Nick paused for a moment, his eyes still angry.  Then, grudgingly, he stepped aside to let the taller man pass.  Warrick did so, then turning back with a quiet expression.  "Thanks, man."

"She's not involved," Nick stated resolutely.

"I hope not."  Warrick paused thoughtfully.  "Go ahead, prove me wrong.  I'll apologise to her if you manage."

"To Rachel?"

Warrick nodded.  "Yes, to Rachel."

Nick watched Warrick as he turned then, heading up the corridor, and wondering what the hell he was supposed to make of their encounter.


	6. Unamusing Musings

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 6 – Unamusing Musings**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Well… *attempts not to rant about Greg this time* CSI is not mine… but any funds towards a respectable lawyer to change that would be welcome ^_~

**A/N: **Next chapter, I _promise_ we'll have some case stuff.  Honest to God we will O_o;; I'm desperate to get on with the plot anyway.

**A/N2:** Fixed an error pertaining to the murder ^_~ If anyone else finds any of these, be sure to let me know.  I still had it chalked up as a shooting up until this chapter, but the next few chapters morphed it into something else O_o;;

~~~~~

The room was quiet.  The curtains were drawn, and Sara Sidle tried to sleep.  She was nocturnal by nature – no – by occupation.  She'd spent all night with nothing to do.  Night-time TV wasn't even that good.  And the lesbian channel she'd stumbled across while channel-hopping was something that would've been a joke at the lab.  She tossed quietly, listening to the birdsong outside and the start of moving traffic.  Everyone else was going to work right now, and where was she?  At home with paid leave, a suspect in a murder investigation.

Suddenly, with a cry of annoyance she pulled the pillow from under her head and flung it with all her strength into the opposite wall.  Something fell off the windowsill, following the pillow down to the floor with a smashing sound.  Sara's only reaction to this, however, was to pull her duvet over her head with a curse.

She remembered once, before she'd come to Vegas, she had said to a friend of hers, "Sometimes there's no justice, we can do whatever we like to get the right guy, but we can only follow the evidence."  She sighed at that thought now.  They were wrong.  The evidence was pointing at the wrong person, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Then the phone rang.

Nobody could've ever seen the suspended CSI move so fast.  The phone was off the hook and to her ear before it had the chance to ring twice.

"Sidle," she answered promptly.

"Hey Sara," said Nick, sounding, as much as he felt, like that he didn't know what to say.  It had been his idea, decided Grissom, so it automatically became his job.

"Nick," said Sara, her voice relaxing.  Nick was her confidant around the lab.  He wasn't going to be jumping to any conclusions.  "How's the case going?"

"Yeah," started Nick uncomfortably, "about that…"

There was a pause.  Sara chewed on a lip for a moment before murmuring, "Go on."

"We need to get you in for questioning.  Making the whole thing 'official'."

"You know I didn't do it, Nick."

Nick sighed.  The tautness of her voice was frightening.  "I believe you Sara, but the DA doesn't know you as well as we do.  This all has to go by the book, or it could get thrown out if it even gets to court."

She nodded for a few moments, "I know that.  I really do."  She paused.  Her voice reflected her thoughts.  She didn't know, or, more to the point, she just didn't care.  "When do you want me?"

~~~~~

Half an hour later, Sara was at the police station.  Nick, as well as Warrick, had decided to sit in on the 'interrogation'.  Grissom was nowhere to be found, aware perhaps that his presence would put more of a slant on the discussion than Nick's or Warrick's.

She walked into the room, her head held high, her eyes containing the familiar shine of pride, accompanied by her co-workers.

"We're just waiting for Brass," murmured Nick, unused, it seemed, to taking the opposite side of the table to Sara.

Warrick sat down beside Nick, leaning his elbows on the table and regarding Sara quietly over his loosely closed hands.  "This is going to be taped y'know."

"I know that," replied Sara, perhaps a little curtly.  "You know what I do for a living."

Nick nodded, taking his lead from Warrick.  "Anything you say could impact the whole investigation."  He paused uncomfortably, not knowing what to say next.

"If you tell the entire truth this'll work out eventually."  Warrick's words were perhaps a little blunt, but he was right.

"I know that too."  This time the words were quieter than before.  There was a thick silence in the room after she'd spoken, Nick and Sara actively looking anywhere but at each other, studying the floor, Warrick intent to let his gaze rest straight ahead of him, regardless of if he was staring at anyone or not.

Then the door opened with a squeak, and Brass walked in, obviously having hurried from somewhere.  He nodded to them all before slotting a tape in the machine.  "Interview with Sara Sidle commencing at," he paused and glanced at his watch, "11:45am, May 16th."

And so… the interrogation had begun…

~~~

In the meantime, Catherine had secured her recruit and hustled him out of his lab.  Greg had not given a peep of protest at the proposed field trip, hastily discarding his labcoat for a regular jacket, signing out of the building, and following Catherine to the SUV.

"So, where're we actually going?" he asked, pulling himself up and into the Tahoe.  He didn't look up as he spoke, now actively busying himself by looking for the seatbelt.

"I didn't tell you?"  Catherine's voice, as she followed Greg's example, was sarcastically innocent.  She was well aware that she could've taken Greg anywhere without complaint, and was amused by the fact that, only now, did he decide to ask about their destination.

"Nope, not a peep."

"We're going to the Hodgeson home, I want you to help me go over our crime scene again."  Absently, Catherine put the key in the ignition and turned it, the engine suddenly springing to life.

"Hodgeson?"

"You remember?  The homicide out in Spring Valley?"

"Oh yeah."  Absently the tech stretched his feet out in front of him, slouching a little in the passenger seat as he watched them pull out of the parking lot, and begin driving the ten miles out to Spring Valley.  After a period of silence he spoke again.  "That's Sara's case right?"

He watched Catherine nod, perhaps a little more tightly than usual.  Then he turned his gaze away a little.  "She didn't do it, did she?"

"No Greg, I don't think she did."

"How can you know for sure?"

Catherine's lips pursed a little tighter at the question.  "I can't.  But I _know_ Sara.  That's the main thing."

"And you know she wouldn't do it?"

"Exactly."

Greg seemed to consider this for a while, manoeuvring himself into the corner between the seat and the door, wedging himself in and slouching even more.  Strangely, Catherine didn't mind in the slightest.  In fact it was almost novel to see Greg contemplating something.  He usually either didn't care enough to think about it, or he knew the answer anyway.  "Do you think she did it?"

Jerked from thought, it was Greg's turn to look up, having to physically lift his gaze to see her.  "No."

"How can _you_ be sure?"

He tapped his nose lightly with his finger.  "A magician never tells his secrets."

"And that's supposed to mean exactly, what?"

"Well… I guess it's instinct."  Greg paused, formulating his question carefully.  "What does Grissom think about instinct?"

Catherine shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road.  "I think he believes in it, but prefers to back it up."

"So, he thinks Sara didn't do it?"

"I don't think anyone thinks Sara did it.  It's not about proving _who_ did do it anymore, it's about proving _she_ didn't."

Greg tilted his head, regarding Catherine and her words with curiosity.  "Should we even be thinking like that?"

This induced a slight smile.  "By being emotionally involved?  I suppose not.  But sometimes you just can't help it."

"I guess not," agreed Greg quietly, continuing to watch the scenery flick past the car windows, and even going so far as to press his nose up against them comically.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop smearing the car windows…" She paused, her eyes still on the road but now harbouring a wide grin.  "I'd appreciate it."


	7. Dirt, Doors and Bullets

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 7 – Dirt, Doors and Bullets**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Do we really need to go over this again? @.@;;

~~~

"Are we there yet?"

Catherine sighed, "You're the one with the map, Greg."

"Oh, yeah."  Absently Greg turned his attention back to the A-Z in front of him.  "Geez… this is so small.  You can't even read it…"

"The turning?"

"Oh, yeah, third on your right," he replied, counting through the turns on the map.  "This one, right here."

Obediently, Catherine turned the corner and down a long, absent looking street.  This had to be where the rich kids lived.  Huge houses everywhere.  Not that she had an aversion to money, just the attitude that usually went with it.

"What I wouldn't give to live in a street like this!" breathed Greg, looking out of the window.  Some of the houses were even so big as to resembled castles you'd see in those English movies.  The ones with the knights and horses and stuff.  The street was a lot different from Greg's own pokey little apartment, that much was certain.

"It cost someone their life." Chipped in Catherine quietly, now able to recognise the house by sight and pulling up to the driveway.  "I know I wouldn't want to give that much."

With a thoughtful nod, Greg agreed.  "I guess not, huh?"

There was a momentary silence as Catherine leaned on the steering wheel, the engine idling under her, before she decisively took the key out of the ignition and pushed the door open, her shoes making a crunching sound against the gravel on the driveway.  "Come on.  We have a crime scene to process."  Her actions still decisive, she pulled open the back door of the car and pulled out the large box containing her kit, Greg having followed suit.

"You got the keys?"

"Wouldn't leave without them," she replied, swinging them on a finger.

~~~

"So."

By now they were in the house.  The alarm system had been left off when they locked up last, so the four-digit-pin code hadn't been necessary.

"So."

Greg looked around the room, his demeanour quiet.  He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but if they came up empty, at least he knew it wasn't his fault.  This place had already been processed.  The room was quiet.  Not a soul.

"What're we looking for?"

"Anything that can eliminate Sara, or give us a new suspect."

"So… pretty much anything they missed first time around?"

Greg watched Catherine nod.

"Sounds like a plan," he said, his voice now picking up a little enthusiasm.  "Where're we going to start?"

"Well, I'll start in the kitchen, if you want to start in here."

Greg opened his mouth to respond.  And then paused.  "By myself?" he asked, his voice containing disbelief.

"With your imaginary friend if it makes you happy."

"Uhh, no.  No it's fine."  Greg was fighting hard to keep the surprise and joy off his face.  He was being allowed to go over part of a crime scene unsupervised!  "Bob's not getting in on my thunder."

"Bob?"

Greg shrugged, now grinning widely.  "Imaginary friend."

"Right…" she said, shaking her head in amazement and taking her leave, setting up in the kitchen.

This was the kind of opportunity Greg had been waiting for.  The way this worked, he needed a specific amount of field experience before he could be classed as a "CSI".  This was a big step towards that.  Besides anything else, lab work didn't hold the same shine as it had done when he was doing his internship.  He wanted to be where the action was, and as far as he could tell, that was out in the field.  Still thinking about this, he pulled on his gloves.

"So," he murmured aloud, casting his gaze around critically.  "If I was evidence that didn't want to be found, where would I hide?"

He turned full circle looking around the room.  If he could trace a path the killer might have walked through the room, he might have some luck.  The body was actually found in the kitchen, where Catherine was now.  But, short of coming in the kitchen window or teleporting their way in, the perp _had_ to have come through the front room.  Front door maybe?

But looking at the front door, Greg realised it would be kind of pointless dusting for prints.  Door handles are places where people don't realise they leave fingerprints.  Don't even give it a thought.  But they're the worst places to try, because door handles never get cleaned.  Giving it up for a lost cause, Greg turned away.  Then he turned back.  Doormat?

Quickly he pulled the front door open, and knelt down.  Sure enough there was a doormat there.  And there was a reasonable amount of dirt on it.  Probably the same dirt, he reasoned, lifting his head, that had made the dusty footprints photographed the first time around.  It was new to him, but not to anyone else, remembering someone mentioning footprints that fit Sara's sneakers.  So, nothing new there, but he didn't know if anyone had thought to take dirt samples. Dirt alone, he realised, couldn't incriminate a person.  But it made a case stronger if a perp could be traced back to an area that the dirt came from.  Especially if that place wasn't local.  Quickly he got a small bag and set to work scraping the assortment of dirt into it.

"You got something?"

Greg glanced up as his blonde co-worker stuck her head around the door at the sound of it opening.

"Dirt," he replied.  "Lotsa dirt."

Catherine paused, considering what he'd just said.  Then nodded in approval.  "Nice catch."

Greg shrugged, scraping up the last of it.  "It might not be anything.  Or there might be too many different types to do anything with.  Call it a hunch, I guess."

"Sometimes hunches pan out," Catherine replied, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Greg rested on his haunches for a moment in quiet thought.  Perhaps they do.  Then he spent no time in labelling his bag and dropping it into his box, looking about for some other hunch he could act on.  Maybe there'd be something else outside with the doormat?  With this thought, the spikey haired tech stepped out of the door, turning his gaze up and down the street.  Then, a couple in a house across the road caught his eye.  They were peering curiously out of their window, an elderly couple.  Greg, being immature as he was, made a big show of peering right back, narrowing his eyes almost hyperbolically.  Then he relaxed, realising that there'd just been a murder in their neighbourhood.  They didn't really need the trainee pulling faces at them.  Sighing, he turned back to the door, which had shut behind him, the lock snapping shut automatically.  With an audible grumble, Greg fished the key, which he was hanging onto, out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock, unlocking the front door and pushing.  It was stuck?  He paused for a second and tried again, this time pushing at the door with his hand.  Still no luck.

Now, he thought, stepping back for a moment, this was interesting.  A stuck front door.  Catherine had done this thing with her hips as she'd unlocked the door, a trick taught to her by the vic's husband apparently.  "She took the key like _this_…" he murmured, inserting the key into the keyhole.  "Then she took the handle… like _this_…" again he commentated himself, this time grasping the door handle.  "Then she nudged the door… like _this_…" as he spoke he turned, pushing his hip sharply against the door, jarring it open.

He held it open for a moment, looking thoughtful.  "So, this means our perp might have had a key…"

Hurriedly, he grabbed the doorstop, holding the door open, and began the task of dusting the door for prints.  The only people, he reasoned, who would press the door in the same spot as he had, were people who weren't used to the stickiness of the door.  Catherine hadn't touched the door, going straight for the 'handle and hip' trick.  So, if the murderer had indeed had a key, and didn't know the mechanisms of the door, there was a good chance that they'd touched the door in the same place that Greg had only moments ago.

He finished that, lifting the prints and again labelling them, before suddenly having another brainwave.  Would the perp've kicked the door?  If they had then there might be footprints.  Granted they'd be Sara's size, and Sara's shoe, but you never knew.  With that thought in mind he crouched, staring intently at the woodwork.  There _was_ a small print there.  Nothing amazing, like the full shoe print they pulled off the lino in the kitchen.  Only about four centimetres of the toe.  However, from just looking at it he couldn't tell if it was the sneakers or not.

"You're busy."

With a squeak of surprise, Greg looked up to see Catherine towering over him, looking down at what he was doing.  "Don't do that!"

She shrugged in amusement.  "So, what've you got?"

"Full hand print, partial shoe print, our dirt, and maybe even a theory."

Catherine blinked, obviously surprised by Greg's level of success.  "A theory, huh?  Let's hear it."

Pushing himself off his knees, Greg nodded.  "Okay, so, I'm a guy here to kill Ms. Hodgeson.  I want into her house.  I know her husband's not home.  What's the easiest and quietest way to enter a house?"

Catherine paused.  "With a key?"

"Exactly.  With a key.  I think our perp had his, or her, very own key to this front door."

"So, the victim knew her murderer?"

Greg held up a finger, shaking his head.  "Ahh, I think not.  You see, the perp didn't know about our sticky door."  He beckoned Catherine outside and let the door swing closed behind him, then taking out the key and repeating the steps he'd gone through not moments ago, but this time pressing the door with his palm and kicking lightly at the door.  "So," he concluded, "That's how I think our murderer got in.  With a key."

By this point the blonde CSI was looking thoughtful.  "Where would they get a key from?"

In response to this, Greg gave a light shrug.  "Buried in the back garden maybe?  Stole it from a friend or relative?  Borrowed it long enough to get a copy cut?  Who knows?"  Having tired of holding the door open, Greg now stepped inside, holding it open for Catherine before letting it swing shut.  "So," he continued, "Perp's in now.  The vic probably heard them when they kicked at the door.  So she puts down what she's doing in the kitchen-"

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

"My favourite," said Greg, nodding slightly with a grin.  "So, she puts down her PJ, and goes to see what's up.  The killer walks along like _this_…"  Trailing off, Greg walked along, putting his feet where "Sara's" footprints had been found.

"Killer's shorter than you," Catherine pointed out suddenly.

"How'd you figure?"

"You're taking small steps.  You have a longer stride than the killer.  You're legs are longer, and that makes you taller."  She paused.  "At a guess."

"Nice," he murmured in slight awe.

"More than just a pretty face.  Anyway, you were saying?"

"Right, so, killer's walking along in Sara's shoes, and stops about… here."  Greg paused, now standing beside the fireplace.  "He sees her there, wrapped in her towel from the bath."

Catherine nodded, aware that they'd found the body naked with a discarded towel in the living room.  "Go on."

"He hadn't expected her to hear him.  Maybe he'd hoped for something quiet and bloodless.  So, in desperation, he turns to the first blunt object he sees."  Turning to his left, Greg mimicked grabbing something off the mantel.  "And voila!  Chalk up one murder weapon."

"Okay, so, he hits her; she drops her towel, and stumbles into the kitchen?  Then collapses?"

Greg nodded.  "Killer left the way he came in, through the front door.  Leaves her for dead.  It didn't look like a crime from the outside, so nobody would be suspicious."

Catherine nodded for a few moments.  "We still haven't got motive, or even a suspect aside from Sara."

"Well, maybe the handprint or the shoeprint'll do something.  Or even," he added after a pause, "the dirt."  He paused again.  "Wasn't there any fingerprints on the weapon?"

"Smeared.  We tried with them, but it kept spitting them back at us."

"Shucks," murmured Greg, looking around again, as though looking for something else to inspire him.  "Criminals shouldn't be so cryptic.  Don't they ever get tired of leaving trace evidence?  It's so cliché, don't you think?"  He smirked a little.  "Maybe a sign saying, 'I was here' would be a little more original?"

"I'm sure the days of 'calling cards' were great," agreed Catherine with a laugh.  "Less work for us."

"What did you come up with anyway?" asked Greg, realising Catherine hadn't related anything to him.

"Not a lot," she admitted.  "Although I do think the killer was in the kitchen at some point.  Maybe checking he'd really killed her."

"How'd you figure?"

"I found some hair caught in one of the cupboard doors.  Not the vic's colour."

"Husband's?"

"Catherine shook her head.  They're both redheads.  It's blonde.  Short and blonde.  Probably a male's."

Greg made a thoughtful face at this.  "So the killer's a guy?"

"Maybe.  Remember we have that female blood."

"This is true…" murmured Greg.  He paused then, breaking off and looking up at the sound of tires burning rubber.  "Hey Cath," he murmured slowly, taking a step towards the window, "d'you hear-"

"Down Greg!" screeched the blonde, hitting the deck herself.  She could feel them rather than hear them, the shots ringing out around them.  Someone was driving a car past the house, and shooting it to bits.  A drive-by shooting, something Catherine had seen dozens of times.  So this was what it felt like…  She buried her face in her arms in a desperate attempt to shield herself from stray bullets and sprinkling pieces of glass…  Then, eventually, it was over.  The shots died away in something which must've been seconds, but seemed like millennia.  Cautiously, and carefully, she raised her head in an attempt to assess the damage.

The house seemed to have been transformed.  It was a mess, chips, dust and downright destruction everywhere.

Then her eyes fell on her charge.  Greg, as yet hadn't moved, his head still buried in his arms as he had dived for cover.  She could see him shaking where he lay, trembling.  And she could see blood staining the carpet under is head…


	8. Alibis

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 8 – Alibis**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Uhh… yes… Greg is mine… so is everyone else… now, let's continue ^_~

**A/N:** Muwaha! And now I get to hold you all in suspense and _not_ tell you what happened to Greg! @.@!!  Everyone's been strangely desperate to find out, but since I love you all so much, I'll keep you hanging on the cliff ^_~  Oh yeah, BTW – This is _definitely_ morphing into a Greg fic.  (I'm already written up to chapter 17) so if you want the chapters more quickly just bury me under reviews ^_^;;

~~~~

The interview was a cold affair.  Neither party showed much emotion, in fact Warrick was having such difficulty with not saying anything 'leading' that he switched places with Brass, watching on from the corner of the room, feeling like he should leave but also feeling obligated to stay.

"So, on the night in question you claim to have been nowhere near the crime scene?"

Sara shook her head, gnawing slightly on a lip in response the question, before backing it up verbally.  "No, I wasn't."

"How do you explain your shoe prints and strands of hair turning up at the house?"

"I don't know.  All I _do_ know is that I wasn't there."

Nick suddenly took over from Jim, desperate to find something, _anything_, that would counteract Sara's presence at the crime scene.  "You were working that night, right?"

"Yes, I was."

"But you clocked out half an hour before the time of death.  That gives you plenty of time to drive out to Spring Valley and kill Mrs. Hodgeson."

"Maybe it does," Sara replied evenly, silently wondering where Nick was headed with this.  "But circumstance doesn't make me a murderer."

"No," Nick murmured, leaning back a little in his chair in thought.  "No, it doesn't.  But it swings that way, right?"  He paused for a moment.  "So, you clocked out at 8:30am?  And then, what happened?"

Sara paused suddenly and blinked.  "8:30?"

Nick frowned, glancing at the sheet in his hand.  "Yeah, it says here 8:30."  He looked up again at Sara, who was suddenly pale.  "Why?"

"I didn't leave here until nine o'clock, maybe a little past that."

Warrick, having been listening in the whole time, watched as Nick turned to face him, the message unspoken.  Silently, the taller man stood and quietly slipped out of the door, intent on finding someone else in the building who might have seen her.

In the meantime, Brass had kept up the questioning for the sake of the tape.  "Did you see anyone?  Anyone who can verify where you were?"  Sara paused, so he continued.  "Why did you clock out half an hour before leaving?"

"I clocked out on time, I didn't finish until 9.  I _know_ I didn't leave early, I was waiting for some results to come through from DNA."

Jim glanced across at Nick, and mouthed, "Greg?"

In response Nick shrugged.  Then he realised that they would be leaving a period of silence on the tape, and spoke.  "Did you see anyone while you were in the building?  One of the techs maybe?  Someone who can back up your alibi?"

Sara knew exactly where they were going with that, but she couldn't lie.  The way to make this easier was to not lie.  "I didn't see anyone."  The words were quiet.  Sara wasn't usually so quiet.

"So," said Jim, frowning slightly in frustration.  "You can't _prove_ that you didn't leave at 8:30?"

Sara shook her head.  "No, I can't.  I swear I didn't, but I can't prove it."

There was another pause, both Nick and Jim trying to think of something, anything, to say.  Then Jim sat a little straighter and leaning across for the stop button.  "Interview over at 1pm."  Then he clicked the button.  With a creak of the plastic he leaned back in the chair.  "If you can't show me someone who can back up your story Sara, my hands are tied."

Sara nodded.  "I know that.  I can't help that nobody saw me."

"There must've been _somebody_ around at 9 in the morning.  Somebody who recognised her.  Did Greg clock out by then?"  Nick glanced about, hunting desperately for something.

Sara shrugged.  "I told you, I didn't see anyone after about 8, nightshift was winding down by then.  Someone might've seen me, but it sure didn't go both ways."

"So," murmured Nick, "we're relying on evidence, which we don't have much of right now, and someone who can back up the fact you didn't leave."

"Either that," commented Brass quietly, "or we've got someone in our admin office who's in on it.  Someone who changed her sign-out time."  Then, after another few moments quiet, yet cryptic, contemplation, Brass stood to go.  "Well, thanks for your time Sara.  If we find out any more I'm sure someone'll call you."

Sara nodded.  "Thanks Brass."

After Brass had moved out of the door, Nick turned back to Sara.  "We'll figure this out.  You do know that, right?"

Sara nodded, the action unconvincing.  "There's of the best criminalistics labs in the country working on it.  I'm sure you guys'll manage."  Then she stood up.  "I'm free to go right?  I've not been arrested yet?"

Nick smiled slightly, used to the question every time they did an interview.  "No, I guess not."

"Wanna go for a coffee or something?"

Nick paused at that point, having stood up to follow her out of the door.  "Gee Sara, I'd love to, but I kinda can't.  But y'know-"

"No," she said sharply, cutting him off.  "It's okay, don't worry about it."

Nick followed her out quickly, grabbing at her arm and forcing her to turn around sharply in the corridor.  "Listen, Sara…"

"What?" she said, the tone harsh and defensive.  "I said it's no big deal."

"I just wanted you to know, I just-"

Then, at the worst possible time, Rachel appeared.  Turning towards her, Nick decided that, wonderful as she was, her sense of timing royally sucked.  "Hey, Nick," she said, walking up.  She then stopped, seeing Sara and looked between them, smiling.  "Am I interrupting anything?"

There was an awkward silence.  Sara, Nick realised, always held the ability of being this difficult.  And Rachel, it seemed, wasn't quite in contact with the word, "tact".  He decided the best way out was to introduce them.

"Sara, this is Rachel Simmons," he said quickly, deciding it best to start by giving his attention to Sara.  "And Rachel, this is Sara Sidle."

"Oh," Rachel murmured, her face taking on a new expression, one of curiosity.  "This is… 'Sara'?"

"'Sara' is right in front of you," snapped Sara suddenly, fully aware by now of who Rachel was.  "Try talking to her if you have a problem?"

"But I don't have a problem.  I was wondering when I could meet you…"

"Don't even bother," she snapped suddenly, thrusting her hands into her pockets and storming off.

That, reflected Nick quietly, was why he'd hoped they'd never have to meet.  Sighing, he turned to Rachel, deciding to actively change the topic.  "So, where've you been?  You've been gone over an hour."

Rachel shrugged broadly.  "I've looked everywhere for Grissom.  It's like he vanished off the face of the earth."

"Did you page him?"

"Twice.  And," she added after a moment.  "Warrick's done a vanishing act too.  It's like everyone's avoiding me."

Nick shook his head, and forced his expression into a smile.  "Come on, stop being so paranoid.  Nobody's avoiding you."

"Well, what was with you and Warrick today?"  They'd starting walking along the corridor by this point, Rachel's blonde hair swinging across her back as she walked.  She was really pretty, Nick decided, if a little tactless.

He shrugged, suddenly remembering the question.  "We just had some stuff to talk about.  It was kinda personal, so… y'know."

Rachel shrugged.  "I mean, it's not like it's any of my business.  I was just kinda worried when he started freaking out like that."  She paused.  "He's okay, right?"

Nick nodded, almost feeling triumphant at being able to reassure himself with Rachel's concern.  Warrick was wrong.  She was a good person, and a good criminalist.  She was just doing her job here, nothing less.

Then, speak of the devil, and he shall appear.  Warrick came jogging up behind them.  He completely ignored Rachel, speaking directly to Nick.  "Come on, man. We gotta go."

"Go where?"  Nick blinked in confusion as he spoke the words, pulling back from Warrick who was trying to tug him forward.  "What's the big rush?"

"There's been a drive-by."

"And?  It's not like they don't happen everyday."

Warrick paused then, frowning.  He let go of Nick and just watched him for a few seconds.

"Come on, man," murmured Nick, his strained chuckle nervous at best.  "That's a scary look."

"It was the Hodgeson residence."  Warrick's words were slow and deliberate.  "Catherine called an ambulance."

As the realisation dawned on Nick, his eyes widened.  "What about Greg?"

"Catherine called an ambulance," Warrick repeated, almost spitting the words out of his mouth like a foul taste.  "Grissom's already on his way there.  I'm going too if you want a ride?"

"Man," breathed Nick, not wanting to believe what he thought Warrick was saying to him.

"Is he okay?"  Rachel's words were earnest.

Warrick's glare was piercing.  "I don't know.  But I guess you can have a lift too if you care that much."  The turned then and took off up the corridor, Rachel and Nick right behind him.


	9. Bull's Eye

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 9 – Bull's Eye**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer: ***insert Greg-related disclaimer here*

**A/N:** Spoiler here for Season 1, Episode 2: "Cool Change", regarding what happens to Holly Gribbs.  Also, there's a reference (though perhaps not explicit enough to be a spoiler) to Season 3, Episode 22: "Play With Fire".  Consider yourselves warned.

**A/N2:** Wow O_o *hides from all the rabid reviewers* I was going to wait a day or so to post this… but everyone seems _desperate_ to know what happened.  So, I'll not keep you in suspense any longer – as long as you all keep reviewing, I don't mind too much ^_~ From this chapter onwards, it's all about Greggo ^_~

~~~

Catherine, upon gathering her own awareness enough to take in the scene around her, was instantly beside Greg, shaking him hard.  "C'mon Greg," she murmured sternly.  "You aren't allowed to do this.  It's not professional, y'know?"

_Professional my ass,_ she thought bitterly.  She just didn't want to see him bleeding all over the place, the amount of blood was nauseating, and more so because you knew the soul it had come from.  She was instantly reminded of Holly Gribbs, their last new intake before Sara.  She'd died from a gunshot wound as well.  The memory wasn't a pleasant one, the girl, just out of the academy, dying on the operating table.

This wasn't going to happen here, Catherine wouldn't let it.

She pulled him over to get a better look at him.  He was shaking hard, the shivering evident even through his jacket.  "Greg?" she said quietly, shaking him gently.  "Can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah…"

Catherine's heart nearly did a somersault down in her stomach.  "Are you okay?"

_What a stupid question,_ she chided herself sharply.  _Of course he's not!  Just look at him!_  She waited patiently, however, for her answer.

"I think… I think I'm hit…" Greg said, his voice quiet, and his face white with pain.

Catherine agreed.  At least one bullet had hit him somewhere.  Though, by the response she was getting it wasn't fatal.  And that, at least was a good thing.  "Okay," she said, her voice sounding more in charge than she felt.  "I'm just going to call 911, okay?  I'm staying right here."  Upon saying this, she dug into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone and made the call, her voice staying level throughout the conversation.  _Yes, there's been a drive-by shooting – I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab – we've got a victim, shot – no, it doesn't seem to be fatal._

Greg, in the meanwhile, listened to all this, gathering his wits slowly.  He didn't remember much about what had just happened.  The side of his face was numb, and his right arm was on fire.  He didn't feel like he was dying, and oddly that was the first thought that struck him.

"Where does it hurt?"

Catherine's words pulled him back to reality, and the shivers starting to subside, as did the panic in his stomach.  He _knew_ something bad was going to happen today.  "My arm, and my face," he said slowly.

Sure enough, there was a lot of blood around Greg's face.  It couldn't be _that_ bad, she told herself determinedly.  Or Greg wouldn't be talking right now.  His arm was a different matter.  The blood was oozing out alarmingly.

"Okay, just stay right where you are," she said quietly.  "There's an ambulance on its way.  I'm going to call Grissom now, tell him what's happened.  I'm still not going anywhere."

At that, Greg gave a weak smile.  How forced it was, Catherine couldn't tell, but it was a smile none-the-less.  "I'm not five anymore, y'know."

"With you," she quipped back, "I can never be sure."

She paused for a moment before shaking her head and making the call.  Greg stayed where he was, listening in on Catherine's half of the conversation.  It wasn't a long call, evidently Grissom wanted to see how much damage there was, to crime scene and criminalists alike, and wanted to get there quickly.  Catherine still had her "calm" voice on, trying her hardest not to worry him with the news.  Greg imagined Grissom would network, heading for his car and calling someone else, who would gather the rest of the team.  It had become a crime scene within a crime scene, and so it deserved specialist treatment.  That meant "all hands on deck" in Greg's experience, as far as Greg's experience went on these things.

That was when he heard the sirens.  Police or ambulance, he really didn't give a damn.  It was going to be okay.  And Catherine could stop worrying so much.

~~~

Grissom drove the entire distance to the crime scene without stopping, and speeding the entire time.  And if a cop had wanted to pull him over they would've had to wait until he got to where he was going.  Pulling around the corner, his heart skipped a beat.  It wasn't right when you saw all those sirens and you _knew_ it related to someone you knew.  Catherine, Gil knew, would have been more concerned about Greg than herself, and that made him worry about her too.  Maybe more so than he worried about Greg.

He pulled up to the curb and nearly fell out of the car, looking around for the two.  Catherine was the one he spotted first, standing and talking to one of the policemen.  Probably giving some kind of statement.  And so, Grissom made towards her, intent on seeing how she was.  She turned away, evidently having just finished as he approached her.  "Gil," she said.  The word was simple, but hemmed with relief.  She could let someone else be in charge now.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  A little shaken, but it's nothing a night's sleep won't cure."

"And Greg?"  Gil said this slowly, fearing the worst.  He had hardly believed her on the phone, how she said he wasn't fatally wounded.  He didn't believe most of what she said when she was panicking.  She was too good at playing calm.

"Like I said, it's not fatal."  She pointed, and as Grissom followed her finger, he could see Greg getting a check up, seated in the back of the ambulance.  Then Gil looked back to Catherine, who was smiling slightly.  "They tried to take him away in a gurney, he was terrified.  I'm surprised they didn't sedate him."

"Greg?  Sedated?"  The thought also brought the smallest of smirks to Grissom's face.  "It's about time someone did."

Catherine nodded.  "So, I haven't killed him yet."  _Though it's twice I've tried,_ she admitted privately, guiltily.  "He's going to be okay."

Gil nodded, glancing again at Greg, then back at Catherine, and trying to convince his heart to stop racing.  "Well, let's go make sure."

"What could possibly be in my _eye_?" grumbled Greg upon their approach, as the paramedic was flicking a torch on and off in his eyes.

The medic, a young woman, laughed slightly.  "Nothing really.  It's all about how much your pupils contract, helps us make sure your reactions are up to scratch."  She turned off the torch with a friendly smile.  "Which, sir, yours are.  You had a lucky escape."

"Tell me about it," said Catherine, still looking tired, but entitled to it.  "I thought he was dead."

Greg, upon hearing her voice, turned his gaze towards them, taking in the fact that Grissom was also present.  At that thought, he blushed.  He'd screwed up again.  And during his big field outing too.  How sucky was his day going to get?  Forgetting his arm was resting in a sling, he made to move it, wincing as the punctured limb protested to use.

"How're you doing?"  Gil's question was, for once, not cryptic, throwing Greg slightly as he made his reply.

"I'm fine.  Apparently I'm lucky to be alive."

"So I've heard."  Grissom paused.  "So, how bad is it?"

"Scored a bull's eye to my arm, bullet went clean through from one side to the other.  It's probably in a wall somewhere," he grumbled, unconsciously touching his elbow as he spoke, "and I got one across the face.  Would've killed me if it was much closer."

For the first time, Grissom noticed a long band-aid running from just past the tech's mouth to just under his ear.  "Is that deep?"

Greg shook his head.  "It just looks bad from the outside.  It should heal up okay though.  They say it needs some stitches."

Gil frowned at the last statement.  Needing stitches meant it was usually just as bad as it looked.  "I'll sort out your paperwork, okay?"

Greg blinked at that statement.  Grissom and paperwork didn't usually belong in the same sentence.  "What?"

"For leave.  You're not coming in like that."

"You've gotta be kidding!"  Greg's voice reflected the expression on his face, pure disbelief.  "I've got an arm in a sling – that's all!"

"Greg," mediated Catherine.  "You've just been shot.  That might mean you're some kind of target."

"You were here too," he pointed out angrily.

"But I wasn't shot."

"It was a close thing!"

"Okay, okay."  This time it was Grissom's turn to mediate.  "Here's the deal, you work half shifts for me, okay?  Then we'll see how you're doing."

"That's total BS!"

"It's that or nothing."  He watched Greg open his mouth to retaliate.  "I can have you forcibly kept out of the building.  And I will."

Greg then paused for a moment, glaring impressively at the supervisor.  Then he relented, knowing that Grissom meant every word.  "Okay, fine.  I guess I can live with that."

"That's good," said Grissom, turning at the sound of more tires up the road.  "And here comes the rest of the welcome wagon."

As though to punctuate his comment, the three other CSIs tumbled, almost comically, out of the car and made a beeline for them.  It was only then that Greg realised how much well wishing he was going to have to endure in the next few days.


	10. Subtle Suggestions

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 10 – Subtle Suggestions**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** *insert witty disclaimer here*

**A/N:** _RainbowsnStars_ ~ I could tell what I have planned, but that wouldn't be very good would it?  Who reads a story they know the end of already? ^_~ 

~~~

The day ended abruptly for Greg as, despite his protests, he was carted off to the hospital to have his arm checked out.  And, as he'd predicted, it wasn't as bad as it looked.  He did have the stitches though, after which he refused point-blank to wear the band-aid anymore.  If his face wasn't bleeding to death, he put simply, there wasn't a reason to keep a band-aid on.  Besides, he would add, the band-aid made him look like an extra from Frankenstein.  Greg would, the doctor told him, have trouble using his arm for several weeks as the wound healed.  He was also advised to take sick leave from work during those weeks, in order to recuperate.  The first thing Greg did when he got home was to look up the word "recuperate" in his dictionary.  Upon discovering its meaning, he promptly decided against it, getting up earlier than usual and calling a cab to get himself to work.  Driving, he discovered, much to his frustration, was going to be a problem.

The first person to find out he was actually in work was Nick who, having cornered Greg in his lab and leaning against one of the benches, said emphatically, "y'know Greg, you really shouldn't be here."

Greg shrugged absently, doing all he had ever seemed to do over the past few days, which was waiting by the printer expectantly for another sheet of paper.  "It's not like there's much for me to do at home."

"There's not much for you to be doing here," Nick put in, his voice not condemning but concerned.  "Everyone thinks you're crazy."

"Not much of a change then, huh?"

"Listen to me, man.  I'm serious.  You should go home and sleep or something."  Nick then glanced at his watch.  "What time are you supposed to start anyhow?"

"Hour."

"So… what're you even doing here?"

"I guess I got bored."

Nick frowned, watching Greg critically.  The chemist's right arm was still in the sling, the dressing clumsily changed, probably yesterday when he'd been dropped off at home.

"So," said Nick, pondering through a few seconds' silence.  "You're serious about still working?"

"Dead serious."

"How come?"

At this question, Greg turned to face him.  He took a breath before trying to answer the question.  "I _have_ to do this.  There's evidence to process, and I won't feel right unless I know each piece of trace has gone through the system properly, even if I don't get to deal with it myself."

"You being here isn't going to change that.  And you know it."

Greg paused for a second.  "I guess not."

Nick shook his head pushing himself off the bench he was leaning against.  "Come on.  I was going for a coffee."

"Coffee?  I'm there," said Greg with a smile, standing up with Nick and following him out of the lab, deciding that he'd not had a decent cup of coffee in at least three hours and it was time for another one.

With a smile, Greg noted that his "special" coffee hadn't been moved since yesterday morning. Despite knowing very well that where he had put it had become common knowledge since Sara found it before she left.  He took up the bag with his good hand.  "You want some?"

"Me?  Want some of _your_ coffee?"  Nick raised an eyebrow in amusement.  "You _sure_ you're not supposed to still be in hospital?"

Greg shrugged.  "Fine, if you don't want any of the magical brew, that's your problem, not mine."  With that, he reached into the cupboard and took out two mugs, flicking the coffee machine on and leaning against the bench while waiting for it to… make coffee.

"Seeing what it does to you, I'll pass.  Pond water's good enough for me."

"_Communal_ pond water," corrected Greg.  "Meaning it's nowhere near as good as my coffee.  And what do you mean, 'seeing what it does to me'?"

Nick shook his head in amusement as the machine finished making coffee, taking it up and filling the mugs with 'the magical brew', despite his protests, taking a mugful of Greg's coffee anyway.  He really couldn't be bothered to make up his own.  "Never mind, Greg," he said good-naturedly, handing his companion the coffee.  "It's not worth me trying to explain."

"Yeah, I'll bet it's not," Greg grumbled, with just as much good nature, returning the bag of coffee to its 'hiding place' before following Nick and sitting down.

A pause lingered between them, as Nick idly blew on his hot coffee, before he looked up to Greg.  "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"As long as you don't expect a sensible answer, go right ahead."

Nick watched Greg for a moment, who was deeply drinking his coffee, but looking to Nick at the same time, the combination of both acts at once making it amusing to watch.  "Seriously, what do you think of Rachel?"

"What, blonde Rachel?"

Nick nodded, watching Greg lower his coffee, tentatively guiding it with his right hand as much as he was able, to set it down on the table.  "I think…" he said slowly.  "I think she's blonde.  And pretty.  With _really_ nice eyes.  I also think she's one of the sexiest creatures in this whole building, and that she has a _really great_ butt."

This entirely honest comment had the amusing effect of Nick spraying the coffee from his mouth to land on the floor over the edge of the table.  And then he was laughing so hard that for a few seconds he was unable to say anything at all, pouring all his concentration into not dribbling any more coffee down his shirt.

Greg grinned, satisfied with the effect of his honesty.  "What?  You wanted my opinion!"

"Man, I didn't mean like that!"  For a few seconds Nick wrestled for control of his features, and still grinning, spoke again.  "I meant, like as a person. What do you think?"

"Ahh, I see.  It's supposed to be a serious question."  Greg laughed quietly.  "I'm sorry, I'm outta practise with those."  He watched as Nick waited for his answer, making Greg consider it carefully.  "I guess, she freaks me out a little," he admitted eventually.  "She's too smiley.  She doesn't even come across as a 'person' to me.  More like a reaction."

"Seriously?"

"For once, yeah."

Nick leaned back a little at that.  He could tell Greg wasn't out to antagonise him, such a thing extremely rare from the tech.  But he was saying the exact same thing Warrick had said earlier.  He took a deep gulp from his coffee as he reflected that Greg just had a much delicate way of saying it.

"Why'd you ask?"

"It's just something Warrick said before."  He stopped, realising what he'd just said, and trying to cover his tracks quickly.  "It's nothing.  Don't worry about it."

"It's always a red-flag when someone says 'don't worry' to me."

Nick shrugged apologetically.  "Seriously, Greg, don't worry."

"There you go waving that red flag again," the other joked, a slight smile on his face.  "Just lemme finish my coffee damnnit."

It was at that point that Grissom, one of the only people Greg knew who just couldn't have a late morning to save his life, poked his head around the door.  He looked mildly surprised to see Greg, but either suppressed it, or wasn't really surprised at all.  Instead he said, "You're a little early, aren't you?"

Greg shrugged, staring intently into his coffee.  "Bored I guess."

"Bored enough to come in an hour early?"  The question was asked in a mild manner, as Grissom stepped fully into the room to survey the meeting.  He leaned against the wall slightly, letting the quiet hang for a moment before speaking.  Then, pushing off from the wall and leaving, he said, "Come on, we're having a pow-wow."

Greg watched as Grissom made his retreat, before turning to Nick in disbelief.  "Does he mean me too?"

Nick, laughing quietly, stood.  "Yeah, come on Greggo.  You come in early, you've gotta start early.  You should know that by now."

~~~

When they walked into the room – not far behind Gil – Catherine, Warrick and Rachel were already there, Catherine making conversation with Rachel, while Warrick tried to stay out of it entirely.

"Okay," said Grissom as he walked in, "what've we got?  Theories would be welcome."

"We've got a homicide and a drive-by," said Warrick, already thinking aloud by the look on his face.  "Possible connection."

"_Possible_ being the main word," Grissom interjected as he took a seat.  "We don't _know_ that yet."

"You've got to be kidding!"  The exclamation came, this time, from Catherine.  "He was gunning for us, going over the crime scene a second time!  He was afraid of what we might find."

Greg nodded his agreement, "It _so_ wasn't random."

"Can you back that up?"

Greg paused for a second.  "We were going over a crime scene.  We were both standing directly in front of the window, perfect placement.  That's gotta count for something, right?"

"Nope," put in Nick, watching the exchange.  "Not unless you can prove it.  A jury'd never buy it."

"Okay," put in Gil, sensing a disagreement in the wings.  "Let's concentrate on what we have from the Hodgeson case.  Our crime scene's shot to hell, so we need to start processing evidence."  He turned to Catherine.  "What did you get?"

Catherine counted the items off as she spoke.  "Blonde hair caught in a cupboard door, partial footprint on the front door, full handprint and some dirt.  We've also IDed the killer as possibly being shorter than Greg."

"And Sara's shorter than Greg…" Gil paused for a moment in thought before focusing on the task at hand.  "Okay," the acknowledgement was curt.  "And your evidence is getting processed now?"

"Should be."

"Then, this is what we're doing today."  Gil glanced around at everyone.  "I need someone to have a look around Sara's apartment.  Someone took her sneakers and we need to know who and why.  That'll be your job Catherine, take Rachel with you."

Greg noted Catherine's split-second expression of malcontent.

"Warrick, you're going to nose around administration for me.  Be discrete.  Find out what you can without getting anyone's backs up.  Jim tells me we might have some clock tampering going on.  If she says she left at 9, we need to prove or disprove."

Warrick nodded in acknowledgement.  "Gotcha."

"I don't even want Brass to know we did it."

"Loud and clear."

"Nick, I need you to find out if Sara made those footprints.  Again, prove or disprove.  I don't care how you do it.  Be creative."

It was Nick's turn to nod, wondering why he was getting all the 'deal with Sara' jobs lately.  "Creative?  Right, how hard could it be?"

"Who's staying behind for the evidence?"  Rachel, who hadn't spoken since Greg had entered the room, now spoke up.  The response was a layer of silence.  It wasn't essential to have someone stick around, but it was always a good idea – if just to let the others know if something came back to show that they were off track.

Grissom shrugged, glancing around the room.  "How about we just let Greg do it?"

"Oh no."  Greg was shaking his head enthusiastically.  "I can't run after your results and process everyone else's at the same time."

Grissom looked up, a clearly amused look on his face.  "It's a good job you're not processing anyone's results then, isn't it?"


	11. House Rules

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 11 – House Rules**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** *insert witty disclaimer here – again*

**A/N:** Gotta thank my betas too ^_~ Krazykid197, and RainbowsnStars.  As you'd expect, all remaining errors are mine, as a result of my horrible inability to articulate (or even write).

~~~

"I can't believe you guys did this to me.  I mean _come on_!"

Grissom shrugged, standing behind Greg who was leaning on the doorframe of the lab door.  He'd made a beeline for it after the fateful words: _It's a good job you're not processing anyone's results then, isn't it?_ Grissom was the only one bold enough to follow the chemist out of his office.  Amused, Gil followed Greg's gaze to his 'replacement', an Asian youth from the dayshift.  He may not be anywhere as near as good at the job as Greg, but he was the best they had for the moment.  "I told you I wasn't going to let you work.  I'm a man of my word."

"Yeah, but… this is _low_!  You tricked me!"

"I'm not denying it."

The whole situation had the effect of amusing Gil to a spectacular degree.  It was 'Greg's' lab.  Even the dayshift was aware of how possessive Greg was of the lab, especially the CD player that never left the room, which was currently playing the current pop charts.  _Pop_ music for crying out loud!  And not blasting either, but just _playing_.  Quite amicably at that.

"This is dumb!"  Turning, Greg implored to the supervisor, his face the picture of pleading.  "Seriously, just let me work!"

"Greg," Grissom's voice made the young man check himself sharply.  This was Grissom's _serious_ voice.  "Which part of the word 'shot' don't you understand?"

"But I'm fine."  The statement was said with a little less enthusiasm.

"Didn't you take a cab here this morning?"

"So I can't drive, it's no big deal."

"And," demanded Grissom, his tone still sharp, "what if you drop something in there?"  He paused for a moment, staring Greg down.  "You're good at what you do.  I can't deny that.  But when you can't do your job, for whatever reason, you just can't do your job.  No amount of badgering me can change that."

It was Greg's turn to pause at this.  He knew that Grissom was right.  But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something going on right under his nose.  Something he should be seeing.  And he wasn't going to get any further with it if he was at home.  "You gonna to send me home?"

"If I was going to do that, I would've done it when you first came in."  Gil then allowed himself to smile slightly.  "Stick around here.  You're on paid leave, but I can't help it if you want to stay.  Give Nick a hand with the height thing if you like, just don't do anything dangerous."

Greg paused, before nodding a frustrated consent.  "Fine.  But you still tricked me."

"I know, Greg."

"And you're not the slightest bit sorry, are you?"

A pause.  "Nope."

"God, you're mean."

"Honest maybe… but not mean."

"Definitely mean."  Greg paused, watching the oriental youth in his lab.  This guy couldn't even have finished college… Who the heck were they trying to fool?!

Then, in a sudden flurry of movement that almost caught Gil by surprise, Greg stepped into the lab.  "_Come on_!" he said, the demanding tone of his voice amusing considering his arm was still swinging in the sling.  "The CD machine isn't crime lab property!  It's Greg Sanders' property!  Treat it with respect already!  House rules, no pop, no Britney Spears, no country!  Country is _bad_!  And most important…!"

Gil turned away with a sense of accomplishment.  Finally, something that would keep the infamous Greg Sanders occupied for more than thirty seconds.  A success by _anyone's_ standards.

~~~

Warrick was the first one on the job, with his 'target' being the closest.

The receptionist was a woman he knew well, certain in the knowledge that there were only three of them in their whole department.  "Yo," he said, walking casually up to the desk.  "Helen.  How're things?"

Helen, the pretty redhead at the desk, didn't have to look up at his voice.  "Hey Warrick.  What's up?"

Warrick reflected at that point that he was extremely lucky it was Helen on the front desk this evening.  He could probably ask her straight out to see the book and she'd hand it over.  But Grissom had said to be discreet.  Anyone could've tampered with it, and letting on that he knew would alert them that they at least had a theory.  It was something to be avoided.  "I'm having disagreements with my boss," he said, leaning on the desk and making like a scolded child.

"How come?"  Absently, Helen finally looked up at him from a form she was filling in, scratching behind a curl of hair with the end of her pen.

"Well, you see, it's kind of complicated," he admitted.  "About a week ago, I signed out on time after work.  Grissom's convinced I signed out early, which just isn't true.  Something's wrong with the computers."  He glanced up then, his expression earnest.  "Is there any way I can get a look at the time sheet?"

"That's kind of strange Warrick."  Helen tilted her head in slight suspicion.  "If Grissom wanted to see it, he could come down here and get it."  She turned slightly in her chair, opening a filing cabinet.  "What date?"

"May 10th."

She flicked through for a while, before taking out a piece of paper and scanning down it.  "Sure Warrick.  You left on time."

He reached casually over the desk.  "Show me?"  He had to see the paper himself, or he'd never find out what time Sara left.

She looked up, suddenly suspicious.  "You don't believe me?"

Hastily, Warrick withdrew.  "No, no I believe you."  Then he decided to try a shot in the dark.  "I remember leaving with Sara, I'm sure she'll vouch for me."

At this, Helen glanced down again, subconsciously looking for Sara's name.  "Yeah, 9:00am, just like you."

Warrick leaned back, smiling again.  That was all he needed to know.  "Thanks, Helen!  I owe you."

She watched him turn to leave, with a frown, her expression that of confusion.  "That was… abrupt," she murmured, turning to put the paper back in the file, "maybe it's something that comes with the job…"

~~~

"I don't care if Catherine comes to the house," Sara was saying into the phone.  Nick sighed.  He knew exactly what she was going to say next.  "But I won't let _her_ into my house.  I don't have to."

Nick leaned back slightly, before hunching up in the chair and fiddling with the telephone cord.  "Sara, you _do_ have to let Rachel in.  She's part of the team, and she and Cath have a warrant."

"You guys got a warrant for my house?!"  Sara's tone down the phone was incensed.

"It makes it more-"

"Let me guess," she cut in sharply, "_official_?"

"Don't do this Sara."

"And I guess the DA is _very_ impressed with all this legwork you guys are doing."

"Sara."  Nick's tone held a warning quality to it.

"And while all this is going on," she continued, the words tumbling out of their own accord, "I suppose _Rachel_," she spat the name, "she's like a member of the family?!"

Nick took a deep breath to steady himself.  "They've got a warrant.  There's not a lot you can do without being locked up for it."

He heard her sigh on the other end of the phone, obviously trying to collect herself and convince herself that Nick was right.  "That wasn't what you called for though, was it?"

"No, no it wasn't."

The relief in Nick's voice must've been audible, as a similar vein followed though Sara's tone.  "Then, what?"

"We want you to come in and help us do some tests with your sneakers."

"Me?"

"Yeah, we want to see if you're the same height as the killer."

"Oh," her tone was suddenly tired, the complete opposite from her flaming self, mere moments ago.  "Sure, I can do that."

"And then," he paused.  "We could go get that coffee you were talking about yesterday?"

"Sure."  This time he could hear the smile on her face.  "I need… to talk to someone."

"And I haven't listened to you talk in a while."  The statement was accompanied by a grin.  "So, that's your incentive to coming in."

"Got it.  Just give me an hour or so to let them in."

It was sad, Nick reflected quietly, as he hung up the phone and stood, on the hunt for paint and a large sheet of paper.  She couldn't even bare to say Rachel's name aloud without getting angry about it.  Why was she so jealous?


	12. Ballistic Intent

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 12 – Ballistic Intent**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** *insert _another_ witty disclaimer here*

**A/N:** many thanks to my wonderful betas, RainbowsnStars and KrazyKid197, my fic's would be so… typo-filled without you guys ^_^;;

~~~

Thanks to Sara's previous conversation with Nick, Rachel and Catherine received a much warmer welcome than either of them had anticipated upon reaching the Sidle residence.

"She doesn't like me much," Rachel had said as they walked up the path to the relatively small house.  The garden was neat, like Sara herself, even the weeds looked like they were lining up for an inspection.

"I wouldn't say that…"

Rachel shrugged, swapping her kit to the opposite hand as they reached the door, pressing on the doorbell.  "I don't really think anyone thinks much of me."

"Nick likes you," Catherine pointed out.  _Nick really likes you…_ she added mentally as an afterthought.

Rachel paused for a moment, before smiling slightly, her expression sunnier.  "I guess you're right."

Then, sharply, the door was pulled open, to reveal Sara – apparently on her way out.  "You going somewhere?"

Sara smiled slightly at Catherine's remark.  It wasn't a genuine smile, but at least she was trying.  Nick must've called ahead of them, Catherine realised in relief.  She was glad of it.

"They want me down at the lab, they want to do something with my sneakers."  She paused, taking the opportunity to shoot a glare at Rachel, before returning her gaze to Catherine.  "What they need me there for, I'll never know."

"Is it okay if we take a look around?"

Sara renewed her glare as Rachel spoke, looking down at her from the door with distaste.  "I guess so.  Knock yourselves out.  I've got nothing to hide."

With that sentiment, Sara left.  Catherine could only hope Nick would have more luck in cheering her up a little.  It was sad that Sara had to be coiled up in this; her record thus far was spotless.  And with that thought in mind, the two blondes started their investigation of Sara's house.

It was as tidy on the inside as it was on the outside, Catherine noticed.  She'd half expected Sara to be a slob.  A lot of people are the opposite on the inside of their houses than they appear on the outside.  There were photographs of various people on the kitchen wall.  Her mother and father.  A young boy, possibly a brother or a nephew.  Several animals, Sara herself at about college age with a group of others.  Catherine somehow felt like she was prying.

"Where does she keep her shoes?"

This question brought Catherine out of her train of thought to look up at Rachel.  Taking a few seconds to work out the answer, she pointed back towards the front door.  "Over there, by the door."

Nodding, Rachel got to her feet and went over to see.  "What're we trying to find here?"

"Something that might tell us who took her sneakers."

Rachel paused at that, and turned to Catherine with a frown, contradictory to the 'ditzy' smile she wore everywhere else.  "What makes you think she's innocent?"

The question was one that had never occurred to Catherine.  The closest she'd come yet was when Greg was quizzing her on their way to the Hodgeson residence.  "She couldn't do it," was the simple reply.

"Lots of things will drive people to murder," came the light reply, as Rachel put her gloves on and was looking through Sara's shoes.  "People can have clean records and still wind up in the slammer."

Catherine paused at this.  Where was Rachel headed with this?

"I mean," the younger CSI continued after a pause, "What if a guy's totally innocent, but ends up getting killed for it?"

"By a perpetrator?"

"By the _law_," came the swift response, as Rachel turned over a shoe.  "Lots of people get unfairly convicted Catherine.  Even if you _know_ Sara's innocent, and even if you collect all the evidence you can, she might still get convicted for a crime she didn't commit."

This speech infuriated Catherine a little, causing her to turn to Rachel with a sharp gaze.  "This isn't about not doing enough, Simmons.  This is about proving that someone I _know_ is innocent; is actually innocent."

"How do you _know_?"

_I know Sara.  That's the main thing._  Catherine's earlier answer to Greg's same question swam to the front of her mind.  This wasn't about evidence anymore.  It was about gut feeling.  But she didn't imagine Rachel would take that at full value.  "That hair, at the Hodgeson home?  That was planted.  There was too much of it in one place.  Like someone had ripped it out of her hairbrush and dumped it there."

"Don't you think a killer would know better than that?  It's kind of obvious."

Catherine shrugged, delicately picking up Sara's hairbrush and dusting at it with her fingerprint brush.  She smiled as a fingerprint showed up, a thumbprint on the underside of the handle.  Exactly where someone would have to hold it to pull hair out of it.  "People do stupid things when they're about to kill someone," she said, with a note of triumph in her voice as she lifted the print.

She was just labelling it, when she heard Rachel gasp.  "Oh my, God…"

"What is it?"  Quickly Catherine stood, and walked over to where Rachel was still crouched near the shoes.  "What've you found?"

Pale, Rachel held up the gun by the butt.  Sub-machine sized.  Capable of firing off dozens of rounds a minute.  "It was in the back of the shoes, like she'd thrown it there after walking in."

_Everyone's allowed to carry guns,_ Catherine told herself quickly.  _There's nothing illegal about owning a registered firearm._  With that thought to steel her nerve, she said quickly, "Bag it.  We'll have ballistics eliminate it."  _Just not machine guns…_

"Or match it," said Rachel quietly, obediently getting up to bag the weapon.  "Whichever it turns out to be."

"_Rachel_," snapped Catherine suddenly, making the other woman turn.  "I will stake my career on Sara Sidle's innocence.  Stop talking about the case as though she's guilty."

"It's hardly fair to slant everything to her innocence.  If she is innocent, the evidence will tell us so."  She paused, her next sentence taut, as though there was a hidden message in the words.  "After all, the evidence never lies, does it?"

"If you're trying to imply something Rachel, just spit it out.  I'm not in the mood for riddles right now."

"Catherine, it's a machine gun!  It would be hard for someone to plant without Sara noticing it.  Why didn't she see it just now when she was getting her shoes?!"  She watched Catherine carefully.  "You can deny it all you want, but it's just not logical to assume she's innocent."

"It's illogical to assume she's guilty.  And if you were from around here you'd know that."

"It's because I'm not from around here that I can see it."  She shook her head, returning to the task at hand.  "I'm not biased like everyone else in that building."

It was at that point at Catherine really wanted to swing at Rachel.  She didn't have a clue what she was talking about.  She was preaching to the choir.  She really thought that Catherine didn't see the way the evidence was adding up, that she wasn't desperately scrabbling for something to clear Sara's name.  The trace evidence would prove it.  The trace evidence would rule Sara out.

Having no suspects would be better than just having Sara.


	13. Kitties With Claws

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 13 – Kitties With Claws**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Don't own zippo, 'cept Shaun and Rachel.  Shaun's cool… O_o;;

**A/N:** Yes, I'm going to mentioning them in every chapter until you guys get _sick_ of it!  RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197.  It's amazing how many pure typos I send to these people ~_~;;

**A/N2:** A spoiler (kind of – more like a fleeting reference) for Season 1, Episode 13 "Boom".  You've been warned.

~~~

Meanwhile, in his lab, Greg was busy playing Hitler.  But he soon found that Shaun, his temp, was a likeable guy.  Greg soon discovered that he was fully capable in the lab.  The only direction he really needed was in how to set the CD player on repeat.  And it was an old CD player, so that was forgivable.

"You gonna be okay if I go find out what Nick's up to?"

Shaun laughed, not looking up as Greg stood.  "I'm sure I'll be fine without your masterful touch."

Greg responded by rolling his eyes.  "Sarcasm doesn't suit you."  He made for the door before turning.  "Let me know the _second_ you find anything."

"Aren't you supposed to be at home, anyway?"

Greg shrugged, watching as Shaun turned in his swivel chair to regard him with a raised eyebrow as he stood in the doorway.  "I just can't get enough of this place," he said, grinning confidently.  "Besides, if I left them alone for half a second they'd go to pot."

"Literally?"

"Literally.  Trust me, dayshift is like a petting zoo compared to these guys!" Greg confirmed, at that point leaving his evidence in Shaun's capable hands, on the hunt for Nick and Sara's sneakers.

~~~

"You wanna put _paint_ on my sneakers?"

Nick nodded with a grin.  "You've got it."

Sara looked at him with a raised eyebrow for a moment, before shaking her head.  "You realise it'll never come out, don't you?"

"Well, it's not like you wear them much anyway."

"That much is true," she admitted, smiling ruefully, before kicking off the shoes she was wearing and sitting in order to lace up the sneakers.  Nick watched her do it, noting that even by the way she laced them up, they weren't casual-wear.

At which point, Warrick turned up.  "Hey Warrick," acknowledged Nick.  Sara also gave him a nod, and a "hi".

Warrick nodded in return, before sauntering in and leaning against one of the benches.  "Wanna know what I turned up?"

"Shock me," murmured Sara, still bent tying her shoe.

"I don't think I'm going to.  Papers say you left on time.  Computer says you didn't.  We've _definitely_ got tampering back there."

"Like I said," Sara said, looking up.  "Shock me, will you?"

Nick shook his head, before beckoning Sara over to several large sheets of white paper spread out on the floor.  He also indicated to a tray of paint.  "Feet in, one at a time.  Then walk across the sheet."

Sara paused for a second, before nodding in approval.  "I see where you're going with this."

"Yup," said Nick, nodding.  "So, step in the paint and go to it."

Obediently, Sara pressed both her feet into the paint, and then carefully stepped out of the paint tray and onto the sheets of paper.

"Now," said Nick, "walk across it, normal pace, as though you wanted something on that counter."

Nodding, Sara walked across the paper, coming to a stop at the opposite end.  As soon as she did, Nick looked up for the photographs from the crime scene, nodding to Warrick as he passed them across.  Then he held them, looking carefully at the footprints Sara had made and then to the photos in his hand.

By this point, Sara had discarded the sneakers, and was behind him, doing the same thing.  "And?"

"Well… the placement of the prints are consistent.  You're about the same height as the killer."

"And that's not good," interjected Warrick with a frown.

"No," mused Nick, still scrutinising.  "No it's not.  But look here."

"What?"

Nick looked up, to see Sara leaning slightly closer.  "Well… the light and heavy patches of your feet are different.  It proves that the two people wearing the sneakers were different people.  Your weight's distributed differently."  He pointed out several parts of the prints in the photographs, then indicating points on the paper.

"So, we're looking for someone my height, wearing my shoes, but someone who walks differently from me?"  Sara was still scrutinising the photos carefully.

"That's about the size of it," said Nick with a nod.  "It's the first piece of good news we've had since we started this thing."

"I know," said Sara, now slipping her regular shoes back on, "I mean, I-"

"Sara."

All three looked up as Catherine strode into the room, her shoes clacking several steps ahead of Rachel as she tried to catch up.

"Catherine?  What?"

All three of them did a double take as Catherine slammed the gun down on the desk, her gaze desperate as she looked up at Sara.  "Please tell me you can explain this."

Sara was suddenly pale as she looked to Catherine, her eyes wide.  "Please tell me you didn't get that from - "

"Your house, Sara."  Rachel's voice was quiet, yet steely.  "In amongst your shoes."

"That's bull!"  Sara's voice went up several notches as she suddenly shouted at Rachel, causing the blonde to take a step backwards, and Nick to take a step forward, grabbing the brunette's shoulder in a restraining motion.  "I don't own a gun like that, and I never have!"

"Then where'd you steal it from?!"  Rachel's voice was equally raised, pushing a hair hastily out of her face as she shouted down the brunette.  "Because it sure as Hell didn't find its own way to your house!"

"What're you implying?!"

"Hey, hey!"  Warrick's voice was the next one to be heard, stepping between the two women, but facing Rachel with a frown.  "Come on, don't start yelling over this!"  He turned to Sara and then back to Rachel, his voice authoritative.  "We don't need this right now."

Sure enough, several heads had poked out of labs around them; curious passer-bys had stopped to listen to the exchange, hugging to the walls as though afraid they were going to get mowed down.  It was at this inopportune moment that Greg got there, hanging by the door and deciding to say nothing.

"Sara."  Catherine had moved forward at that point, pushing Rachel aside in an effort to calm Sara down.  Greg saw this motion, and took the opportunity to step in, taking Rachel by the elbow and steering her promptly and sternly out of the room and down the corridor, watching Nick nod his appreciation from behind Sara.

Now, Nick realised, with Rachel out of the way, things would be a little calmer.  With that thought in mind, he released his hold on Sara's shoulder.

There was a pause, and then Catherine spoke.  "Can you explain it?"

"No, you know I can't."

"Then…" Catherine sighed, not wanting to say it.  "There's too much evidence Sara.  You _know_ that."

Sara nodded.  "I know."

"We can't do anything but…"

"Arrest me.  I know."  She was calm.  Her voice was almost normal, maybe even more than normal.  It was serene.  Nick didn't like it one little bit.  But, without so much as a nod from Catherine, he reached for the phone.  When Nick got hold of Grissom, he sounded dismayed, but not surprised, at their findings.  Nick even wondered if Grissom was worried by the discovery, or if he had total faith in the evidence.  This was the end of Sara's career, and everyone in the room knew it.  It was playing out _exactly_ the way it had when Nick was the main suspect in Kristy's death.  Luckily, that time Nick had been cleared.  Sara, it seemed, wasn't going to be so lucky.

"There'll be someone waiting at reception to make the arrest," Nick said, hanging the phone up gently from speaking to the supervisor.

Sara nodded, looking to Catherine, then to Warrick and Nick.  "Just do me one favour guys?"

"Anything," said Warrick, watching Sara with a kind of reverence.

"Nail the bastard for me.  Make sure he doesn't walk for this."

"We plan to," said Catherine, the frown on her face saying everything.  "Without a doubt."  She paused then, to sigh, before making for the door.  "Come on then.  Let's get this over with."

With that last sentiment, Nick and Warrick watched the girls leave.  "I guess that means a double?"

Warrick nodded at Nick's comment, "Absolutely."  He stopped then, swallowing.  "But first, I need to go take a break."

"What's up?"  Nick glanced across.  "You've been out of it all evening man.  You feeling okay?"

Warrick nodded.  "It's just a headache."

"Go get it checked out.  You taken painkillers?"

"Yeah."  Wincing, Warrick rubbed at his temples.  "As much as I can."

"Maybe you should just take a nap or something.  There's been a lot going on here."

Warrick nodded, suddenly feeling nauseous.  "That might be a good idea."  He made to stand straight, away from the support of the table, but swayed a little.

"Whoa," Nick murmured, reaching out to support the taller.  "Seriously… what's wrong with you, man?"

"Nothing," Warrick lied quickly.  "Seriously, I'm fine."

Nick shook his head sharply at this.  "No way man, we're going to get you checked out."

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm so totally serious, you wouldn't believe," responded Nick sternly.  "Come on."


	14. Getaway

**Implied Connections **

Chapter 14 – Getaway 

By: Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Guess what? Still don't own anything O_o;; 

**A/N:** As always, props to my wonderful betas, Krazykid197 and RainbowsnStars. And also, thanks for all the great reviews O_o;; I think I may do something I've never done before and actually respond to some of them! *shock horror!* 

**_Piper Of Locksley ~_** Thanks a lot, it's things like that that give me the drive to keep writing. I'm actually a newbie to the show, I've only been a Greg worshipper for a month ^_^;; And I haven't seen it all, so I'm glad my portrayal of the characters is accurate ^_~ 

**_Jessica ~_** And so the plot thickens ^_~ 

**_Cuadripteryx ~_** What? *chuckles* Sorry, couldn't resist. 

**_Lyndz13 ~_** Yup, I made her to hate. As Greg says, she's "more like a reaction". Glad it worked so well ^_~ 

**_Rea / LegolasLover2004 ~_** Well, I apologise that Rachel has your name ^_^;; Actually, one of my best friends has a sister called Rachel. I've not seen her since I started the fic, but yeah ^_~ (Oh, and stop giving away my plotlines O_o!) 

**_Everyone else ~_** Thanks for all the praise ^_^;; Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy! 

**A/N2:** Apologies if anyone read this before I fixed the coding problems. I had to totally recode the file. So apologies for that ^_^;; 

~~~ 

"It's Schlaufmiden." 

The word was said with hesitancy, as Shaun read it aloud, having to work his mouth around the German word. He looked up after reading it. "Database says it's a sedative, usually it makes for a short high before a big crash. Big thing in Germany." 

"I was drugged?" Warrick's voice was incredulous as he spoke, wanting to make sure he understood exactly what the Asian was saying to him. Shaun nodded, glancing down at the printout as though to assure himself. "Yes, sir. Looks like it. It's harmless in small doses, but as with everything, enough of it can be lethal." 

Grissom was also present, as was Nick. Warrick and drugs just didn't add up. "So you were drugged?" He paused thoughtfully. "But when?" 

"Uhh, I have something else," said Shaun quietly. "All that trace you gave me to work with? I finally processed it." 

"And?" 

Shaun frowned slightly in Nick's direction. "Nobody's going to like this..." 

"If it's Sara's then I-" 

"But it's not," interrupted Shaun quickly. "That's not what I meant." 

"Then, what're you saying?" 

Shaun looked down for a moment, before seeming to steel himself to say it. "Your hair from the crime scene, it matches Rachel Simmons." 

At this Nick turned sharply to Grissom. "Did Rachel ever work that crime scene?" 

Silently, Grissom shook his head. He spoke to Shaun. "Is there more?" 

"Yes, sir. The blood is a dead match for Simmons too." 

"Then, the victim fought back..." Sharply, Grissom turned to Nick. "What about the shoes?" 

"Sara wasn't wearing them." 

"And what size shoe does Rachel Simmons wear?" At the rhetorical question, Grissom commandeered a computer and quickly looked up what he wanted. Rachel Simmons and Sara Sidle both had the same sized feet. "And they're the same height..." He glanced up then, his features angry. "We've been looking entirely in the wrong direction this whole time. We've been tricked by a setup!" He shot a look at both Nick and Warrick. "Where's Rachel now?" 

"She went with Greg when she and Sara were arguing..." Suddenly the realisation dawned on Nick. "She's alone with Greg." 

"And Greg doesn't know about any of this?" Grissom's curt question was directed at Shaun. 

"No sir." 

"I want to know exactly where they are. Right now. In fact no, I want to know five minutes ago." With this statement, Grissom stood straight before making a beeline out of the door, Nick and Warrick close on his heels. 

~~~ 

"Yeah." Helen looked slightly surprised to see not one, but three anxious CSIs hovering around her desk. "They left about ten minutes ago. Signed out of the building right here, see?" She held up the clipboard from behind the desk. And, just as she'd said, there were the two signatures. Rachel's, with a loopy circle over the "i" in her surname, and Greg's, surprisingly neat and tidy with regimental letters. No sign of trembling hands at all. 

Grissom glanced up. "Did they say where they were going?" That would be kind of stupid... he told himself quickly. But it was a standard question. 

"No," said Helen thoughtfully. "But Greg wasn't sure about it." 

"How do you mean?" 

"I mean, he didn't know where they were going. He asked if she'd told anyone they were leaving." 

"But he wasn't being forced anywhere?" 

Helen shook her head decidedly. "No sir. He wasn't." 

"Thank you, you've been a great help." Frowning, Grissom turned his gaze to the parking lot, just outside the building. "Warrick," he said sharply, "are you good to go on this one?" 

"Yeah boss. I'm fine." 

"Good, go tell Brass I want an APB out on Rachel Simmons' car. Tell him we want an arrest for first degree murder and possible kidnapping." 

"Registration?" 

"Go look it up. _Now_!" 

Wordlessly, Warrick took that as his cue to leave. 

"In the meantime Nick, we have a crime scene. I want this quick and tidy." He paused. "We have cameras for the parking lot, don't we?" 

"Yeah, I think so." 

"Good, go talk to reception about getting it up. Everything in the last 20 minutes. If you find anything, even the tip of Greg's hair, I want to know about it. Understand?" 

"Gotcha," affirmed Nick, before taking off in the same direction as Warrick. 

Finally, Grissom was alone. He quickly walked out to the parking lot, for the space where he knew Rachel's car was parked this morning. A quick look told him something had happened right here. The gravel in the lot was disturbed, either by a car peeling out, or a person. Or possibly both. Then, suddenly, a splodge of blood caught his eye on the car in the next space. The Toyota was red, so the blood was easy to miss the first time around. He leaned closer, peering at it, but daring not touch it. What could've left the blood there? There wasn't enough of it for a large wound, but there was more there than would be characteristic of a cut. There was also a slight dent, very very small. Even easier to miss than the blood. But still present, indicating pressure against the car. Sudden pressure at that. Grissom's best guess was that there'd been a struggle, during which Greg had been pushed up against that car. The gunshot wound was far from healed, and if it was disturbed it could easily leave this much blood on a surface. That kind of action would hurt too, he realised angrily, suddenly wanting to hit something. If she touched one hair on Greg's head, he was going to want revenge. Whether or not he'd get it, or allow himself to take it, was a different matter, but he wanted it. 

He must've been there longer than it seemed, because at that point Warrick returned. "Brass has the APB out on the car." 

"Good." 

There was a heavy pause. "You okay, Grissom?" 

Gil nodded. "Just annoyed." He glanced up. "She had us all fooled. How did she get in here anyway? Was it just luck?" 

"I think it was engineered," said Warrick confidently. "She's been playing this game for ten years." 

"Engineered?" For once it was Grissom's turn to look confused. "How so?" 

"I looked into it," Warrick supplied helpfully, "While I was looking for her registration plates. Ten years ago, she was brought in for questioning. By this crime lab." 

"Vegas?" 

Warrick nodded. "Yeah. About a serial murderer called Nigel Bell. She was his ex girlfriend, engaged until about a month before that." 

"What happened to Bell?" 

"Sentenced to death. She swore he didn't do it, even after the conviction. Then, for some reason she turned it around. Started training to be a CSI. She's had a few applications for a transfer to Vegas." 

Grissom frowned. "So, this is revenge? For building a case against Bell?" 

Warrick nodded. "She tried to kill Catherine and Greg with that drive-by, and me with those drugs." 

"You think she did that?" 

"With the drugs, yeah. She kept getting me cups of coffee..." he paused. "Which I never finished." 

"Then you're a lucky man." 

"Tell me about it." Warrick paused for a moment before continuing. "Wanna talk it out then?" 

"Not really." 

"But, you're going to anyway?" 

Grissom pushed himself up from the crouch with a nod. "Yeah... I will..." He looked about the lot, steeling himself "All right, so. They have their discussion out in the foyer," said Grissom, turning to indicate the area he was talking about. "And Helen overheard part of their conversation, just like she told us..." 

=== 

_"Y'know," murmured Greg, following Rachel towards the parking lot, "I really think we ought to tell someone we're leaving." _

"We're signing out, aren't we? Besides, this is a state issue, between you and me." 

"Why me?" The question was as fearful as it was curious. As much as Greg joked about fame and glory, he didn't really like being singled out like this. 

"The others are all crooked. You've seen how they almost have Sidle for that murder? She did it, but they're going to try and slant the evidence in her favour. That's what they do. It's why you guys have such a high solve rate." 

Greg paused, watching her, before continuing to keep pace with her. "We don't crunch evidence. We process it. There's a difference." 

"I'm sure there is," she murmured dismissively, coming to the front desk and signing out. "Come on, we need to get a move on." 

Greg sighed, taking up the pen and signing his name underneath Rachel's. "I still think someone needs to know where we're going..." 

"I'm telling you they don't," she insisted, reaching out to tug at his jacket sleeve insistently, making the tech recoil slightly. She was getting too familiar with him all of a sudden. 

=== 

"Then," said Gil, turning a little. "I think they came out. Greg was still following her voluntarily at this point, there's no disturbance in the gravel until he gets to..." As he spoke, Gil moved into position. "Here." 

=== 

_"Look, I'm really not liking this. I'm gonna go tell someone I'm going." _

"No Greg. Look, just get in the car." 

"Seriously..." 

=== 

"...here he takes a step backwards..." 

=== 

_"...I'm not liking this. Whatever it is, I don't want any part in it." _

Rachel shook her head, before looking up with a smile. But, it wasn't a regular smile. It was a sick, mutated, and twisted smile. One that just didn't belong on a human face. 

Then, suddenly, everything started to move. She stepped towards him, lashing out at his bad arm and pulling him around with it, forcing him to comply with the pressure with which she squeezed. With a curse, she brought him around to slam against the red Toyota, holding him there for several seconds, leaving a smear of blood which had seeped through his bandages as she pulled him off again. By this point Greg was faint with pain, and all thoughts of retaliation were pushed back in his mind as he fought to stay conscious. 

=== 

"Then somehow," finished Grissom, "after she pressed him up against the car, she got him in her own car. Whether he passed out with pain, or with help, is something we don't know right now." He thought for a moment. "She'd have to have bound him... people don't just leave unconscious youths in their back seats." 

"Unless she knew he wasn't waking up in a hurry," interjected Warrick. 

Grissom nodded with a tired sigh. "That's also possible." 

"Hey!" Both CSIs looked up at the sound of Nick's voice. "We've got a couple of minutes of CCTV here!" 


	15. Hurtful Fears

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 15 – Hurtful Fears**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Don't own e-Bay… honest I don't…

**A/N:** Yup, my betas (RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197) are still wonderful, and will remain so until the day that they die ^_^;;  And, from the next chapter onwards, we shall pile on the Greg angst.  Yes, the angst of Greg.  Muwahaha… I'm evil o.o;;

~~~

"So, " murmured Grissom, pointing at the CCTV tape, "I was right…"

"You can't see it too well.  That van's in the way…" pointed out Nick.

"Yeah," said Warrick quietly, getting his two cents in, "but there's _something_ going down back there.  Look!"  He pointed at the screen.  "That was someone's hand."

"Probably Greg's," said Grissom, leaning back by this point, his tone dark.  "Trying to get away."  He looked up from the video at the entry of two more people, Catherine and Sara.  Evidently Sara hadn't been arrested, Nick thought privately to himself, or she wouldn't be here right now.  Automatic dismissal.

"What's happened?"  Catherine's face was as pale as Sara's as she got in first with the question.

"It was Rachel, the whole time," said Warrick, his voice venomous.  "She was pulling us along with a string the whole time and we bought it.  And now she's got Greg."

"Are we expecting any kind of phone call?"

Grissom nodded at Sara's question.  "I'd expect so.  She's got nothing to gain from doing anything to Greg.  More likely he's a bargaining chip.  She knew we'd be onto her pretty soon.  She'd have to know that if she was a CSI worth _anything_."

Nick looked up, from where he'd fixed his gaze on the floor.  He was kicking himself.  He'd been totally fooled; never suspected that Rachel was anymore than he'd seen her to be, a wonderful, pretty, witty girl.  And now she was a murderer and an abductor.  He was so stupid.  "What's our next step?"

"Yeah," Sara chipped in, "there's got to be more to do than just sit around waiting for the PD to get something."

Grissom turned in the chair to face his team.  "This abduction, today, is the _only_ crime in Vegas.  We know who killed Mrs Hodgeson, and we're all working Greg's case now.  We know a lot about Rachel, not all of what she gave us could be fake.  Catherine, you're going to come with me to Rachel's house.  We need to turn that place upside down.  Anything that's been near the Hodgeson's home, Sara or her home, a machine gun, or this 'Schlaufmiden'.  And anything that could tell us where she's going right now with our tech."  He turned to Sara and Nick.  "I need you two to get out here with kits.  If Greg left us _anything_ in this building or this lot that tells us _anything_ we need to find it."  Then it was Warrick's turn.  "Chase up our evidence.  I need it _all_ moving to the _top_ of the pile.  If Rachel had help, which I suspect she did, I need to know about it."  He held up a finger as Warrick opened his mouth to protest at being given the 'run-around after stuff' job.  Evidently he wanted to be doing something more hands-on.  "Warrick, I know it's not the most productive job in the world, but I _need_ it done.  Then, when you've done that, chase up our rotten receptionist.  I need to know who she is, and when you find out have her held in custody.  Brass'll help you with that.  Then, if you manage all that, you can drive out to Rachel's house to help me and Cath."  He glanced around, finally having finished.  "Everyone know where they should be?"

Unanimous nods confirmed that, yes, they did.

"Alright, let's go.  Nick, you and Sara make sure you get this area cordoned off.  No cars come or go from this end of the lot.  They can take cabs."

"Yes sir," said Nick, nodding, and making for the building to retrieve his kit, Sara hot on his heels.  Warrick followed suit, intent on badgering the hell out of everyone in that building.  He knew this wouldn't be hard.  Greg was well known and liked by everyone.  Everyone would hustle any evidence that might get him back quicker.  And, hopefully, that APB would come back any second.  Then they'd have even more to go on.

That left Catherine and Grissom, who quickly made for the Tahoe, pulling themselves in and buckling up, Gil at the wheel, and practically peeling out of the lot.

"Gil," said Catherine after several minutes of the driving.  "Calm down and slow down."

"I'm calm."

"You're not calm.  If you don't calm down, I'm going to drive."

With those words, Gil eased his foot onto the brake and relaxed on the accelerator, still going over the speed limit, but maybe not so far over.  He wasn't calm.  He was worried.  And panicked.  And desperate.  But he couldn't let any of it show on his face.  In fact, the amount restraint he had to show was surprising.  But, at the end of the day, Greg was part of his family.  The same way as Catherine was, and Nick and Sara and Warrick.  And Al, and Jim.  Even, to an extent, Ecklie and his dayshift.  Even Lindsay fit the bill.  And families looked out for each other.  And worried about each other.

So, that was the great Gil Grissom's reasoning.  He was worried about his family.

"Gil?  Are you okay?"

"Yeah.  I'm just thinking."

Cautiously, Catherine asked, "Thinking about what?"

"Which bone in Rachel Simmons' body I'm going to break first."  He smiled slightly, a kind of withering smile.  "What about you?"

Catherine's face was straight and pale as she looked away, focusing on the road ahead of them.  "The same.  She's not walking away from this."

~~~

"So," said Sara, after she and Nick had cordoned off their section of the parking lot, and let about four drivers know that their cars were part of an abduction investigation and were going exactly nowhere.  They'd scoured the area, and found pretty much nothing of interest.  "What do you think of Rachel now?"

"Let's not go there, Sara…" murmured Nick, crawling along the ground at this point with a magnifying glass, looking for _anything_ that might help them.  "I was stupid, and I know it."

"You weren't stupid."  Sara pushed herself to her haunches and regarded Nick critically.  "You just trust more than is good for you.  That's all."

"Don't people deserve the benefit of the doubt?"

"Depends if they did it or not."  She hesitated, looking down at her gloved hands.  "It's a good quality Nick.  I don't think anyone thinks any less of you."

"What about you?"

Sara shrugged.  "I was annoyed.  I knew I'd been set up, and you were getting along great with the main person shouting out my guilt.  But I never guessed she was involved."

"Warrick did.  He told me as much."  Nick pushed himself to his haunches and took a deep breath, trying to keep a handle on his emotion.  "Everyone told me.  And I didn't see it."  He paused.  "If we don't get Greg back it's my fault."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say," she said, dismissing it tartly.  "We _will_ get Greg back.  But not by gossiping here like two little old ladies.  Keep looking."

~~~

"Hey, Helen."  Warrick approached the front desk and was obviously in no mood to start beating around the bush.  "Who was on reception on the 10th?"

By his tone of voice, the redhead knew he had little time, and turned, fishing the piece of paper out of the cabinet.  "Deborah Parsons and Shelly Wilds."

"Are they around right now?"

Helen nodded.  "Shelly's in the back on the computer.  Want me to get her?"

"No, no.  Just tell me.  Do you know who was on the computers on the 10th?  Or who typed up the sign out times for the morning of the 10th?"

Helen nodded.  "That would be Shelly."

"Alright, thanks Helen."  He then reached over the desk.  "Can I borrow your phone real quick?"  He took the receiver with a murmur of thanks, and rang through to get someone to take Shelly into custody.  When he was done, he hung up gently and turned back to Helen.  "Has she been acting nervous lately?  Fidgety?"

"She's been staying in the back a lot," the redhead admitted quietly.  "Every time she sees one of the police go by, she hides.  It's like-"

Helen was about to continue, when a sudden commotion made Warrick look up.  A brunette had just burst out of the side door of the reception's back office, and she was running through the building, as though Satan himself was behind her.  _You'd be better off with Satan on your case,_ decided Warrick grimly, ploughing after her, and sprinting in her wake.

She was a swift runner, Warrick soon discovered to his dismay.  As she moved, she threw things behind her in an effort to make him stop.  Then, suddenly, she tripped and fell, sprawling along the floor to come into a head-on collision with a wall.  As Warrick came to stop beside her, she was trying to get up, dazed and woozy.  Probably a concussion, if he were to hazard a guess.  Good job she hit the wall first.  She wouldn't have gotten off so lightly if Warrick had gotten to her before the wall did.

Looking around, Warrick wondered what had tripped her.  His eyes fell on Shaun, who was standing at the door to Greg's lab, watching cautiously.  "You wanted her to stop didn't you?"

"Yeah.  Did you…?"

Shaun nodded.  "Yeah.  I figured you wanted her to stop."

Warrick stooped to haul Shelly to her feet.  "I wonder what gave you that idea."  Then he smiled.  "Thanks man."

"Hey, if it gets Greg back faster, I'd pretty much sell my soul."

"To Satan huh?"

"To e-Bay."  Shaun paused with a slight smile.  "That's _so_ much worse."


	16. Dark Places

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 16 – Dark Places**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** I own no Greg, no CSI, only Rachel… I don't think Shaun, Shelly or Helen are mentioned in this chapter, so yeah… just Rachel this time ^_~

**A/N:** Gotta thank my betas RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197 – as always ^_~

**A/N2:** Just so people know, this update is going to be the last of the _fast_ updates.  I only have four more chapters to tide me over for a while, and I'd go for steady and consistent over quick and then… not consistent.  So, the next update won't be around for a few days.  On the upside, the Greg angst is about to commence ^_~ Enjoy!

~~~

Rachel's house was the exact opposite to Sara's.  Weak light filtered in past musky curtains that, had Catherine been in any other profession, she'd have opened straight away.  Piles of magazines and romance novels were everywhere.  And she'd not even been living there a week.

Catherine rested on her haunches quietly as she waited for Grissom to finish talking to Warrick, calling to tell them about his encounter with Shelly.

"Nice job Warrick.  Make sure you keep me posted."

Catherine watched wearily as Grissom flipped his cell phone closed.  "Good?"

"Definitely.  He's got our time tamperer.  Maybe she can tell us something about Rachel.  In the meantime, we keep this up."

Catherine took a deep breath as she lifted another magazine.  The place was filthy, and unorganised.  A dump.  But they'd been through it inch by square inch.  All they'd turned up was a notebook.  "Gil, there's nothing else here."

"There _has_ to be something.  Warrick says Nick and Sara are coming up dry."

Catherine quietly noted the tautness of her supervisor's voice.  "Saying that isn't going to make something appear out of thin air, Gil.  She may not have been planning this."

"There had to be somewhere she was going.  She wouldn't try to kill three of us without having a back up plan.  She proved that much by running away.  Besides, she definitely planned to frame Sara.  There has to be proof of that somewhere.  Maybe on the notepad, maybe not."

With a frown, Catherine got to her feet and moved over to the phone.  The dust on it was still present, but they'd already lifted all the prints from it.  "I wonder who she called last."

"Try it," said Grissom, appearing instantly beside her, watching as she pressed the redial button.

It rung, once, twice… then thrice, and four times, and so on.  She replaced the receiver sharply.  "Nobody's answering."

"It's not important," Grissom dismissed, turning back to what he had been doing.  "We can pull her phone records."

Catherine watched as Grissom went valiantly back to work, dusting and searching dutifully.  "There's nothing else here."

Gil looked up at Catherine's tone.  It sounded hollow.  Almost like she was spent.  "Are you okay Cath?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, lowering her gaze and shaking her head at the ground.  "There's just nothing else here to help us."

"There might be," Grissom insisted.  "We just haven't found it yet."

"Like, what?"

"Oh, I don't know," the supervisor murmured, reaching under a sofa comically.  "Maybe a notebook?"  He pulled it out and swept a layer of dust off the top.  "_Another_ notebook."  He sighed, his face contorting in puzzlement.  "How does someone let their house get so dusty in a week?"  He then started to open the book up to flip through it when his cell phone rang, breaking the quiet sharply.  Quickly, Grissom answered it.  "Grissom."  He paused, listening to Warrick's hurried voice on the other end.  "Okay, we're finished here.  We'll be there soon."

"What is it?"

"Rachel called the lab."  He stopped, levelling his gaze with hers.  "Greg's now officially a hostage."

~~~

It was still light when Greg opened his eyes.  He groaned, moving his head slightly in order to figure out where he was, and why his neck was so stiff.  His arm was numb, he couldn't feel that at all, and all of a sudden he realised his wrists and ankles were crudely bound.  Still drowsy, he blinked and peered up.  He was in the backseat of someone's car, someone who was going fast, several potholes in the road bouncing him unceremoniously like a rag doll.  He swallowed, his throat paper-dry, as he tried to move into a sitting position.  This alerted the attention of the driver, as he saw her glance at him in her rear view mirror.  She did nothing, however, but smile at him before speaking.  "Good Morning, Greg."

Greg, without enough wits about him to respond coherently, just remained silent, his pulse starting to throb in his temples at the upright, but slouched, position he was now in.  He wished he'd stayed lying down.

"I need you to do me a little favour Greg, once we pull in over here."  At the words, the biochemist vaguely heard the indicators clicking and felt the car rumble to a halt beneath him.  He heard her get out of the driver's seat and then winced as she opened the door nearest to him, the sunlight making his headache worse.  He was almost grateful as she stepped up, casting her shadow upon him.

"I'm going to call your friends back at the lab, I'm going to settle up with them.  They know you're with me, I'd imagine, but I need to get out.  And you're going to help me do that."  She paused, regarding the pitiful youth beneath her.  His face was pale; his eyes sunken, and his spiky hair was now no more than a floppy mess.  The stain in the middle of the backseat told of how Greg's irritated wound was still weeping, and probably still pained him.  Schlaufmiden, Rachel was glad, had no high when it was inhaled.  Just the big crash.  He'd be incapable of even walking for many hours yet, his thought processes would be slow enough to make him seem worse off than he really was.  Which would be perfect when she let him speak to his friends.

She took out her phone and dialled the only number she'd been given, Warrick's, and smiled as he answered the phone.  Greg saw this, but no matter how hard he tried to keep up with events he was always one step behind them, and so ended up just giving up on it and zoning out.  He jumped as Rachel nudged him.  "Hey Greg," she said sinisterly.  "The phone's for you."

"For me…?"  The first words he'd uttered in hours were sore, and dazed.  But having spoken the first, they started to come more easily.

"Yeah, you should talk to him now."  She held the phone by his ear, her smile sadistically widening.

"Greg?"

Greg frowned.  Warrick sounded panicky.  Exactly why, was something his mind had yet to piece together.  "Yeah…"

"Man, Greg, are you okay?  Where are you?"

"I… I umm…" Greg paused, swallowing hard.  His throat was closing up again, the words weren't coming.  "I'm okay."

"Has she hurt you?"  Warrick sounded like he was restraining himself, like he was having to take this slowly.  "You sound messed up man."

"My head… kinda hurts… but I… I just woke up…"

"You've been unconscious this whole time?!"

Greg shook his head in confusion.  This was too much thought.  He didn't know what to think.  He leaned away from the phone slightly, trying to get his bearings.  This prompted Rachel to take the phone and resume her conversation with Warrick, it going way to fast for the biochemist to follow, and resulted in his attention wandering.

When he started registering his surroundings again, it was because Rachel had opened the car door.  "We just need to get you in the back Greg," she said quietly, pulling gently at his uninjured arm.  By suggestion, he meekly followed her intent, trying to get out of the car, and succeeding, although a little unsteadily.  But when she led him round the back of the car and popped the trunk, no matter how drugged up he was, he saw what she wanted him to do next.

"No," he murmured, trying to totter back, but held in place by Rachel's stern hand.  "I don't want to do that…"

"C'mon Greggy," she coaxed, trying to be soothing to make the bundling into the trunk as painless as possible.  "It'll be safer there."

"No… I don't wanna… don't wanna go in there."  On a subconscious level, the trapped part of his intellect damned himself for being so slow.  He wasn't even acting the level of a school kid.  He couldn't articulate, didn't even know what he wanted to say, even though he knew he wanted to say _something_.  All he could feel was fear, and foreboding.

Then, it seemed, Rachel had had enough.  Sternly, she pulled him across the short distance, grabbing his injured arm to make him respond.  The response was somewhat different than she'd expected, making him jump back on impulse rather than with a need to escape, but she caught him off balance, giving a quick shove and slamming the lid shut behind him.  She could hear him banging as hard as he could on the lid, screaming at her to open it.  He was scared.  Only the most primitive emotions got through the Schlaufmiden.  Self-preservation.  It was almost sad, she thought, as she started the engine again.

_Almost_.


	17. Return of the Dirt

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 17 – Return of the Dirt**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Greg's… doormat dirt belongs to me… I guess O_o;; As does Rachel.  Taadaa!

**A/N:** Many thanks to my numerous betas, my proofreaders being RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197, and my "other" readers being Kal and Bishie.  Muchos thankies people!

~~~

"So there's no tape?"

Warrick shook his head as he walked along the corridor with Grissom.  Catherine had been sent out to help Nick and Sara who were still combing the parking lot for clues.  "No, she called my cell phone."

"From her cell phone?"

"It must've been."

When they came to the corner, Grissom stopped, rubbing at his face with a hand.  "How did he sound?"  He watched Warrick's expression, wondering if he was going to try and soften the blow.

Instead, Warrick said, quite bluntly, "You want me to be honest?"

"Brutally so."

"He sounded awful.  She's got him drugged up to the eyeballs.  He said he had a headache, and that he'd only been conscious for a few minutes."

"But how accurate is his guess at the passage of time?"

Warrick shrugged.  "Who knows?  If I felt as bad as he sounded, I wouldn't even remember my own name."

"What does she want?"  Grissom made to walk along the corridor again, Warrick followed right beside him as Grissom asked the question.

The response was another question.  "You mean her demands?"

"Yes, Warrick," came Gil's suddenly clipped voice.  "What did she want for Greg's release?"

"Well, she wants immunity.  She knows she's going down for three cases of attempted murder, at least one count of first degree, and one abduction."

Grissom turned then, looking at Warrick quietly.  "There's something else, isn't there?"  He watched Warrick nod quietly, before continuing, "Well?"

"She wants to meet with you… in person, when she gives Greg back.  Nobody but you, alone, unarmed."

"No police?"

Warrick couldn't resist a slight, yet rueful, smile at this.  "Nope, no police."

"But, why?"

Warrick shrugged.  "Something about telling you everything."

"Telling me everything?"

Warrick nodded.

"Okay Warrick, you stick with me.  Next time she calls, _I_ want to talk to her, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Warrick said, with a slight nod.

"And one more thing?"

"Yeah?"

Gil furrowed his brown at this point, making him look suddenly intimidating.  "We're getting him back.  Alive.  I don't care how Rachel thinks she's playing it.  I'm not about to lose my best DNA tech to some lying blonde with an attitude problem."

Warrick smiled at this, somehow reassured by Grissom's words.  The supervisor wasn't really a people person, but when he had to say something he always knew how to say it properly.

"Did you chase up the evidence?"

"All of it."  Warrick was almost glad for the change of topic.  "We even checked the gun from Sara's apartment was the gun from the drive-by.  Ballistics did it as soon as I walked in."

"Good, I'd expect no less.  And?"

"Perfect match."

Grissom nodded, then steering Warrick into his office and indicating that he take a seat.  "Okay, so update me," he said.  "Tell me _exactly_ where everything stands."

"Okay," Warrick said, nodding.  "Shoeprints in the Hodgeson house, all Sara's sneakers.  We identified that Sara wasn't wearing them, so my guess is Rachel."

"Are you positive?"

"No, just a highly probable guess."

Grissom nodded, regarding Warrick over arched fingers.  "All right, go on."

"The hair Catherine found in the Hodgeson's kitchen, Rachel's.  We've got an DNA match for that one."

"Placing Rachel positively at the crime scene?"

"Exactly.  Blood found on the murder weapon was all the victim's, but we found a smear of blood on the butterknife.  Rachel's again."

"So, she was there in a position to draw blood?"

"Yup.  The gun in Sara's apartment, none of Sara's prints, but none of Rachel's either.  Wiped clean."

"It's big, but small enough to fit in a field kit, right?"

Warrick nodded, following Grissom's train of thought.  "Most things will fit in a field kit.  I say she planted it."

"Okay, anything else?"

"Like I said, we test fired rounds from the gun and compared them to those in the drive-by.  A match."

"What about the blood on the Toyota?"

Warrick nodded again.  "Nick sent me off with it.  It's Greg's."

Grissom restrained himself from cursing aloud.  "What about Greg's dirt?  Did we find out where it was from?"

"Some weird stuff in there.  I was just going to go check it out when Rachel called me."

"_Weird stuff_?"

"Seeds on the doormat weren't from any plant indigenous to the Vegas area."  Warrick watched cautiously as Grissom's brow furrowed again, this time in an expression of thought.  "What?"

"Wherever those seeds are from will be a place Rachel, or Sara's sneakers, have been before.  You find out where those seeds are from and we might have a pretty good guess as to where she's going.  I need to know where those seeds came from."

"I'm on it," said Warrick, standing to resume his task.  "Oh, we talked to Shelly Wilds.  She's in custody right now, she's just talking and talking and talking."

Grissom nodded, also standing.  "Then, I guess it's my job to go and listen, right?"

"She did mention your name once or twice."

"Let me know the _instant_ you've got anything.  Oh," he reached across the table.  "Mind lending me your phone?  Just in case.  Just keep your pager on in case we need you in a hurry."

Warrick nodded, delving in his pocket and handing the small instrument over, before turning and silently leaving the office.  Again, Grissom was glad for the silence in the room.  He stood for a few seconds, listening to the sound all around him.  Not many would admit it, but the whole building was working to get Greg home.  Something the biochemist may never appreciate.  But that didn't mean it wasn't happening regardless.

"You're going to come home Greg…" Grissom confided to the empty confines of the office.  "I promise you, you will."

With that sentiment, he boldly moved from behind his desk and grabbed the door handle, intent on squeezing everything out of Shelly Wilds that he could.  And then some.

~~~

It was tight in the trunk of Rachel's car.  It wasn't a big car to begin with, and Greg was curled up inside it.   At 5'10" and a bit, he was way too tall for it to be a 'comfortable' fit.  The feeling was starting to come back in his right arm, making him shift desperately, more on account of the pain than calculating that it would hurt less in the long run.  His awareness was still dim, the fear and panic tiring him out more quickly than it would normally, and desperately the biochemist tried to cling to some form of sense, knowing it was there, just not why he couldn't find it.  He was also vaguely aware of his breathing speeding up, and his heartbeat was accelerating in his ears.  He had enough wit about him to try and slow his breathing, but it wasn't working, just making it tighter, hotter, and more claustrophobic in the trunk of the car.  Then, he realised with surprise, there were tears trailing down across his nose.  He hadn't even realised he was crying, he was so preoccupied with getting out.  He squirmed childishly, trying to wipe them off with his shoulder, but with little success.  Eventually he gave up, letting them come, even allowing himself to sob confusedly as they did so.  His mind was gaining a little clarity, if only he'd been even this aware a mere hour ago, when he was talking to Warrick.  Or had he even done that?  Was that a figment of his imagination?  Was it an hour?  Or a few minutes?  Or maybe days?

"I wanna go home…" he mumbled, the words even inaudible to himself, as he squirmed into a more comfortable position and stayed still, trying to calm himself down.  He did manage to calm himself down, just sufficiently enough to pass out in the trunk of Rachel's car.


	18. From CSI to Serial Killer

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 18 – From CSI to Serial Killer**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Greg, CSI and any cute guys that resemble Greg are not mine. ^_~ (But I'm gonna try hella hard, so if you're one of those guys, watch yourself!)  Heh, kidding, but yeah, seriously, CBS are way powerful with ownership and stuffs ^_^;;

**A/N:** As always, props to RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197.  Couldn't've done it without 'em ^_~

~~~

Shelly Wilds looked to the door sharply as Grissom opened it and entered.  He dipped his head in her direction, almost like a greeting.  "Ms. Wilds?"

"Mr. Grissom?"

He nodded, taking the seat opposite her.  "That's right.  I was told you wanted to see me?"

She looked at her hands, wringing them nervously.  Brass must've already given her a good going over.  "I want to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"  The words were quiet and calculated as he watched her.  He'd told himself to forget Greg was even missing as he had stepped into the room.  Let the evidence talk.  The evidence would tell him where Greg had gone.

"I know… about Rachel's past.  I can tell you that, but I need a…" she paused, swallowing.  "Deal."

"Then tell me about Rachel's past," said Gil, leaning forward slightly, wondering why Rachel Simmons' past should be so fascinating.

"When Rachel was young," began Shelly, still wringing her hands together nervously, never making eye-contact with Grissom as she spoke.  "When she was younger, she got engaged to be married."

"Nigel Bell?"

"Yes," she confirmed, sounding a little surprised.  "Nigel was a great guy.  It was…" Shelly trailed off, pale.  "I can't believe I'm doing this…" she whispered quietly.

"Doing what?  Telling the truth?"

Shelly looked up at Grissom's rhetorical question angrily.  "I'm betraying her.  She doesn't deserve what I'm about to do."

"Let me tell _you_ something," said Grissom, his voice still level, but angry at the same time.  "She's driving around somewhere with one of my technicians in the back of her car.  She could be going to kill him, I don't know.  All I know is that it's something he doesn't deserve.  I need to find him.  I really don't care what Rachel Simmons deserves, because it's a lot more than my technician does, and she's going to put him through hell and back unless you come clean with me right now."

Shelly listened to Grissom's speech in silence.  "I didn't think… that she'd go so far."

"She has.  And I need your help to stop her."

"Rachel," Shelly murmured quietly.  "Rachel's the murderer.  You set up the entire case against her fiancée and killed him for it.  He was convicted on five counts of first-degree murder.  They killed him, and Rachel swore she'd get her revenge."

"But, why take revenge now?  Nobody works here that did then…"

"It's not about individuals.  It's about the whole.  It's revenge on the system that she wants.  She's been here, ever since setting up Sidle, trying to find ways of killing all the CSIs in the building.  Now that she has Sanders, I don't know what she's going to do.  She could kill him, just like she was trying to kill you.  Or she may want to trade lives, his for hers."  She shook her head emphatically.  "I really don't know anymore than that Mr. Grissom."

It was at that inopportune moment that Grissom heard his cell phone start to ring.  Hurriedly he excused himself from the room, under the realisation that the situation could be a _lot_ worse than he had at first thought.  Rachel Simmons saw killing as something so light, that she'd killed a woman in order to get herself into the Vegas crime lab.  Doubtless, Shelly Wilds had had a hand in setting that transfer up for her.  So if she could kill a woman for as small a reason as that, they needed to give her a reason to keep Greg alive.  He flipped open his phone, and stared at it distractedly for a few moments.  It was still ringing.  Then he realised, it was Warrick's phone.

Rachel was calling.

~~~

They'd stopped again.  By this point, Greg had given up struggling.  He'd figured out that it would get him absolutely nowhere, and it just hurt every time he tried.  His head had cleared sufficiently that he was able to think rationally, though still scared out of his wits.  He was in the trunk of a car.  Rachel Simmons' car.  How he'd gotten there was a mystery.  He remembered having a scuffle with her in the parking lot of the lab, but aside from that he was drawing a blank.  His headache was still present, although that could be for any number of reasons.  He could hear her pacing around outside, talking to someone on a phone.  He had to do something, or he was going to be stuck forever in the trunk of the car.  But then, to his surprise, the trunk popped open, revealing Rachel standing over him with, what looked like, a wad of fabric in her hand.  He winced as the light hit him, having been in pitch dark for several hours now.

"Just give me two seconds Grissom.  Then you can talk to him."

Greg's eyes widened a little at this, and he moved to sit up, ignoring the fire in his arm.  Rachel, however, was having none of this, pushing him down harshly by the injured limb with a chuckle.  "Now, now, Greggy," she drawled.  "Can't be having that now."  She then turned to the phone.  "I'm just going to be a second."  She then set the phone on the ground and stood again, aiming to cover Greg's mouth and nose with the cloth.  This action cased Greg to squirm and wriggle away, knowing he wasn't going to like the results.  But there's only so far you can go when you're pinned in a small trunk, and eventually she caught him, pinning him in the back corner by the forehead, relying on the rope that bound his ankles and wrists to keep his limbs pinned.  And then she pressed the cloth to his face, hard, the pressure making the bridge of his nose ache.  He tried not to breath, and continued squirming, despite how useless he knew it was.  But eventually, almost by a reflex action, he took a deep breath.  Then started hacking and coughing; the moist, soaked air going down his throat like alcohol, and burning in his lungs.   She held it to him for a few more seconds before moving away, giving him space to hack and cough.  "There you go.  A few moments of clarity for you there, Gregory."  She smiled a little, before leaning down to pick up the phone, and giving it to Greg, watching as his tied hands trembled almost too much to keep a decent grip on it.  He ended up dropping it on the floor of the trunk and resting his head against it, desperate to talk, able to feel his intellect slipping away.

"Greg?"

"Grissom!"  His supervisor's voice felt far away.  As though he was too far away to hear him properly.

"Greg! Greg, are you alright?"

The question prompted Greg to nod, murmuring verbal confirmation as he did so.  "Uh-huh."

"Do you know where you are, Greg?"

"No…" the word was small, terrified, as the owner of the voice fought off a nauseating sense of fear.  He could feel rational thought, again, being pushed into a small corner of his mind.  "I don't wanna be here Grissom…"

"I know Greg, I know.  We're going to find you, okay?"

"How?"

He could almost feel Grissom pause, wondering how much of it Greg would understand.  "It's not important, okay Greg?  Just that we will."  A moment's silence.  Greg opened his mouth to respond, but nothing was coming out.  Fatigue, and confusion had suddenly manifested, making it hard to breathe.  "Greg?"  Grissom's voice was sharp and worried, a tone Greg had never heard before.

"I don't feel so good…" he mumbled, looking up imploringly at Rachel, before slumping back, his eyes rolling back in his head, despite his desperate cling to consciousness.

With a smirk, Rachel took up the phone again.  "You see?" she said tartly, slamming the trunk again.  "He's doing okay.  But for how long; that's a different matter all together."


	19. Location, Location, Location

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 19 – Location, Location, Location**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Hmm… owning Rachel here… that's about it… O_o;;

**A/N:** Almost at the end, and I _finally_ know how it's all gonna work out ^_~  As always, muchos thanks to my wonderful betas RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197.  And also, just to tell you _I wasn't kidding_ when I said updates would become erratic.  But, rest assured, it shall be finished ^_^;;  I'm a few chapters away from the finish now.

~~~

"What do you want?"

Grissom's voice was cold.  And harsh.  A complete contrast to what it was mere seconds ago.  Chillingly, Warrick's words came back to him: _She's got him drugged up to the eyeballs_.  By the sounds of things, Warrick was right.

"What do I want?"  The words were indignant.  Almost as sharp as Grissom's own.

Almost.

"That's what I said.  I can't meet demands if I don't know what they are."

He heard her laugh at the other end, and the sound of a car door slamming.  She was probably back in the driver's seat.  Could Greg hear her from where he was?  It had sounded like a slamming trunk when Rachel had taken the phone again.

"My 'demands' are fairly simple Mr. Grissom.  And frankly they aren't that demanding either."  She paused thoughtfully.  She was probably examining something.  It was interesting, thought Grissom, how people always make a show of examining things, like their nails, to avoid saying things to people.  Even over the phone.  He'd done it himself often enough.  "All I want," she said, "is to talk to you."

"So talk."

"No," she said, her voice fluid.  "I want to talk to you, in person.  Alone.  And unarmed."

"Where?"

She chuckled gently.  "I'll be there for a day.  No more, no less.  If you don't come, I'll assume you're not coming and just kill him.  Dump his body somewhere for you to find."

"Just one day?"

"Just one."

"And if I come," said Grissom slowly, his mind racing a mile a minute.  "If I find you and come, you'll let Greg go?"

"I never said that, did I?"  She laughed callously for a moment.  "However, playing nice will increase your chances tremendously.  Just remember that much."

"Why?"

"Don't ask stupid questions."  She paused for effect.  "We'll be waiting."

The dial tone was the coldest sound Grissom could imagine hearing, and he lowered the phone from his ear, staring at it dumbly.  Then, suddenly, he sprung into action.  The dirt.  They had to process the dirt.  It would tell them where she was going, he was sure of it.  She had to know he'd get there, or she wouldn't have said it.  And now the stakes were getting higher.

_If you don't come, I'll assume you're not coming and just kill him_.

~~~

Grissom and Warrick practically collided in the corridor, Warrick coming out of one of the labs with a couple of sheets of paper in his hand.  "Oh, Grissom," he said, surprised, raising the paper.  "I've been looking into the dirt."

"Good, that's our most important lead right now."

Warrick paused then, tilting his head a little at the words.  "Did she…?"

"Yes, she did.  What've you got?"

"Well…" Warrick mumbled, glancing through his papers.  "It's not from any plant common around here.  But we already knew that."  He held up a sheet for Grissom's inspection.  "Now we know that it only grows in rural areas."

The supervisor took the sheet, the paper making a snapping sound as it was snatched from Warrick's grasp, and looked at it.

Frowning, Warrick continued.  "What did she say?"

"We have to find out where this dirt leads, and go there in twenty four hours.  Or rather, _I _do," Grissom paused.  "Because she's _shy_."

"Tight ship."

"Tell me about it."  Grissom handed the sheet back.  "You keep working on this, I'm going to get Brass.  We need more than that APB now, we need a search party."

Warrick nodded, moving past Grissom to continue in his previous direction.  Then he stopped, turning.  "Apparently, it's sort of fresh."

"_Sort of fresh_?"  The words were confused.  "And what does that tell us?"

"We found it on the Hodgeson's doormat on the 11th.  It's now the 16th.  The tech told me it's, at most, a week old."  Warrick paused for effect.  "That gives us a day window.  Wherever she got it from, it went from there to here in a day or two."

"But a person can travel miles in a day!"

Warrick shrugged.  "Don't shoot the messenger, man."

Grissom paused, thinking about this.  Could they pinpoint her location on the day of the 10th, or even the 9th?  If they could, they would have a better chance of working it out.  No airplanes.  "Thanks Warrick," he said then, pulling himself from his own thoughts.  "Keep working on it."

"Aye aye, sir," mumbled Warrick, giving a half hearted, and rather fake, salute and moving off again.

As Warrick moved off, Gil imitated the motion, powering down the corridor with one thought in his mind.  Was Rachel Simmons anywhere near Vegas on the day of the homicide?  Credit cards were the most likely thing to check up on, and surprisingly, he hit a match.  Most likely on the drive to her new job, she'd stopped at a gas station to buy, of all things, gas.  Surprise, surprise.  However, at this point, Gil didn't care too much about _what_ she'd bought.  The fact that she'd been there was enough.  And that eliminated their mystery plants from, say, London or Paris.  This plant had to be local, within two days.  And she couldn't have driven for a solid two days without sleep.  So, it made sense that she drove straight through from buying gas.  That made their search area a lot smaller.  Because, wherever she stopped for the night, that was likely to be where she was headed now.  Quietly, Grissom glanced at his watch.  She could even be there now.

She'd killed five people, seemingly without motive.  Then one more to prove a point.  Tried to kill three more, and abducted another.  She was already looking at death when they caught up with her.

_What did she have to lose by killing just one more?_

Gil really didn't know.  He wasn't really a 'people person', nor did he ever pretend to be.  But he wasn't inhuman.  He cared about what happened to Greg, a lot more than most people might give him credit for.  He was always the man to look at things objectively, but he finally knew what it meant to know a victim.  Funny, he thought idly to himself, how Greg was 'Greg' when he was thinking about the person, but 'the victim' when he was thinking about the case.  They were one and the same… weren't they?  Or maybe he just _wanted_ them to be separate people?

Or maybe he was just thinking too hard about things that could wait.  He had a CSI to harass about plants.


	20. Bless You

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 20 – Bless You**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Disclaimer:** Does anyone believe I won my case for ownership of Greg?  No?  Thought not… so keep reading and reviewing ^_~

**A/N:** Just so everyone's clear, the conservation program at Tonopah is completely fake ^_^;; Just in case anyone got confused.  Tonopah, however, _is_ a real place ^_^;;****

~~~

Greg was starting to feel distinctly like a light switch.  On and off, on and off, then on and back off again.  It wasn't a happy feeling, but then again 'happy' wasn't a word he was too familiar with ever since Sara had become a suspect.

His head was still fuzzy, but by now he knew that it was something that would wear off if he gave it long enough.  He'd also figured out that his best chance at keeping his head clear was to pretend to be unconscious.  Every time she had even a whiff of a thought he had that might be coherent, she made him breathe in that… _stuff_.

The worst part of it all, Greg reflected bitterly, was that he had no idea what was going on.  In fact, even though he was a central participant, he probably knew less about where he was and what was happening to him than anyone else.  Being a nosy person by nature, this annoyed him a great deal.

Then he figured he might be about to find out.  He could feel the car slowing, not rumbling underneath him so desperately.  They were turning… right he thought.  Then they drove on for a while, but it wasn't asphalt anymore.  And they weren't driving quite so fast.  That either meant they were off-road, or on a quiet road.  Either one was preferable in Greg's view; it meant they weren't travelling away from Vegas as fast as they had been.  The car then pulled up, and the engine was turned off.  The driver's door opened, and someone got out of the car, the whole machine bouncing as her weight transferred to the floor underfoot.

When the trunk popped, Greg was ready.  Limp as a noodle with his eyes closed, he almost looked as pathetic as he had when she'd closed the lid of the trunk an hour or so ago.

But somehow she knew.

The sound of a gun cocking was what brought Greg to open his eyes, fearfully looking down the barrel of a handgun.  Not as big as the one they'd been arguing about last time he'd been in the lab, but big enough to cause a dent.  Hell, _any_ gun was big enough to cause a dent…

"Just so you know Greg," she said, her voice calm.  She was pulling no punches.  "I don't have a reason to pull this trigger, unless you give me one.  I have absolutely _nothing_ to lose by killing you now and leaving you to die here.  Do you understand me?"

Dumbly, Greg nodded.  Now was not a time to be defiant and heroic.

"So, what you're going to do for me, is play nice when I help you out of the trunk, and you're going to come with me.  You're going to let me knock you out again.  Then I'll leave you."  She paused, before reiterating.  "That's all I'm going to do.  Then it's up to your friends to do their stuff."

Again, this time more slowly, Greg nodded.  What was in those words?  He could sense something deeper, something a little more profound.  But he didn't know enough to pinpoint it.  It was like she already knew how this would end.  Any more than that Greg was unwilling, and unable, to guess.

Just as she said, Rachel helped him out of the trunk, first unbinding his ankles, and allowing him a moment to stretch out his aching knees before pushing him forward, the threat of the gun always present.  Gritting his teeth as his arm – which had numbed up and settled during the 'ride' in the trunk – flared up again.  He looked at his surroundings.  Anything to keep his mind off the present.  Let's see, there were trees, he realised, his gaze flitting around the scenery.  They were in some kind of wood.  Desperately, he tried to rack his geographically retarded brain for forests near Vegas.  But, because he had no idea of how long they'd been driving, accompanied by the fact that the only thing he could find in Vegas was his lab and his CD player, he drew a complete and utter blank.

"Am I going to die here?"

The words were sudden, and unbidden.  But had been said all the same.  They suddenly revealed how scared he was, and how little coherence he really had.  Those words betrayed fear.

Rachel's response was not one of surprise or anger.  Not even of irritation as she said quietly, "Maybe."

~~~

"Tonopah!"

Catherine, who'd been passing the room Warrick was in, paused and looked in.  "Bless you."

"No, Tonopah!"

Catherine shook her head, puzzled, before entering the room to look at the computer Warrick was using.  "Aren't you supposed to be tracing seeds?"

"Yeah, and I've found them.  Toiyabe National Forest.  Tonopah District."

"Explanation?"

Warrick paused, before nodding and indication the screen, beckoning Catherine closer.  "Okay, what I've got here is a map of the Vegas area.  This," he indicated a red dot in the centre, "is the Hodgeson residence.  Where we found those seeds."

Catherine nodded.  "So, you made a two day radius?"

"Exactly.  Given the top speed of the car she was driving," Warrick clicked the mouse, causing the display to produce a large red circle.  "I figure this is the furthest she could've possibly travelled in two days."

"Have you taken out any stops?"

Warrick shook his head.  "Nope.  What if she didn't take any?  Or maybe there were two drivers."

"Okay, so you've got the radius."

"Yeah.  Then I did a search for our mystery plant.  Seems, as part of a conservation project a year ago, the Tonopah district of Toiyabe planted some seedlings.  There's a lot of them out of state, but if we're staying in Nevada, this is the only place you'll find them.  And guess what?"

Catherine nodded, her expression one of tired triumph.  "It's slap bang in our radius."

He nodded, turning away from the screen to regard the blonde.  "Exactly."  Then, he continued.  "Where's Grissom?"

"He's out with the search party, and he's taken Sara and Nick with him."

"Did they turn up anything in the parking lot?"

Catherine shook her head ruefully.  "Not a thing."

Warrick nodded, putting the pieces together in his head, before standing.  "Call Grissom.  We know where we're looking now."

Catherine pulled out her cell at his instruction, saying as she dialled the number, "You mean, we 'sort of' know where we're looking."

"Hopefully it'll be close enough."

"You can say that again," she said, raising the phone to her ear.  "Hey, Grissom.  We've got a break."


	21. Deafening

**Implied Connections**

**Chapter 21 – Deafening**

**By:** Braidless Baka

**Disclaimer:** Don't own CSI, blah blah blah – You guys know the drill

**Thanks:** Many, many thanks to RainbowsnStars and KrazyKid197. Also Sally, for reminding me it's almost a month since I updated - Sorry 'bout that.

**A/N:** Okay guys. I'm posting this chapter, mostly to get the message out – I _have not_ forgotten this story. It's almost finished. I'm sure my betas think I've fallen off the face of the planet… After this chapter there will be _no updates_ until at least July. I have big exams until the end of June, and there's no way I can revise and write at the same time. So, sorry, but this is goodbye for a few (more) months.

**A/N2:** Argh, ff.net hates me... sorry about the rubbishy formatting before - it's not displaying sqiggles, underscores or hats... which sucks...

-------

Forests, Grissom realised upon getting there, were huge places. It was all very well, narrowing it down from a worldwide search to just a woodland one. But just whereabouts in Tonopah were Rachel and Greg? Search parties were almost certainly out of the question, she'd told him to come alone. And he was about as alone as it gets.

He looked about himself quietly, trying to judge what he should do next. A flock of birds took off from above him suddenly, with a clattering flap of wings and a few shrieks of surprise. Then a rustling in the branches above him as some mammal scurried away. And insects. There were lots of insects. And, for the first time in his life, Grissom was annoyed by them. They were only diverting his attention from things that mattered. Things like: where should he go next?

After another moment's contemplation the CSI stepped forward, the action decisive. He had to start somewhere, and there was no way he was waiting for the cavalry. Rachel Simmons was a woman on the edge – there was no telling what she might do, given enough time or motive. He had to get to her first.

Then, suddenly, a movement! Sharply Grissom turned, his eyes searching. This wasn't a small animal. It sounded different, almost as though it were intended.

"Gil Grissom, my, my. I didn't think you'd come."

Again he turned, trying not to betray his fear as Rachel stepped out from behind a tree, having been watching him for several minutes. He watched her for a few seconds before speaking. "You wanted to talk to me?"

She nodded; making sure the gun in her hand was clearly visible. "Yes, that's right."

It was a game, Grissom realised. There was no way she was going to tell him straight out, she was the one with all the trumps. He didn't know where Greg was, and thus he'd be a captive audience until she chose to tell him.

Or not, as the case may be.

"Then talk," he said, his voice quiet. "I'm listening."

She smiled a little, then looking down almost bashfully. Like what she was going to say was an embarrassment. "You miss Greg, don't you? That's the only reason you would be here. You don't want me to kill him?"

Silently, Gil shook his head.

She smiled at that. "Speechless?" She paused, seemly gloating in her apparent victory. Then, after a moment she continued. "You know what I miss? The thing I miss _most of all_?"

"Nigel Bell."

She turned to face him sharply, and Gil could tell by the look on her face that she hadn't expected him to know. Then, she regained her composure and said calmly, "Yes, I miss him. But I can't have him back. And do you know why?"

The reply was matter of fact, as Gil cautiously watched her begin to circle him. It was almost a predatory action. "Because he's dead."

"Yes!" she spat. "Yes, he _is_ dead! He's dead because of people like _you_! Why should I give you back what you miss? Why?!" Her voice was getting more hysterical with every word she spoke, but then she seemed to realise it, her tone softened suddenly. "Why should I?"

"It's not a CSI's job to decide guilt. Our job is to present physical evidence. We didn't kill Nigel Bell. A jury convicted him."

"But he was _innocent_!"

Grissom didn't flinch as she took a step towards him. He then replied evenly, "How can you be so sure?"

The silence in the small clearing was deafening. Somewhere in the distance a bird called and another replied. Light dappled around them as they both stood, silently, waiting for Rachel's reply.

"I just _know_."

"But you can't know. Not unless…"

She suddenly met his gaze, her blue eyes furious. "Unless _what_?"

"Unless it was you."

Her eyes narrowed then, the hand holding the gun coming level with Gil's chest as she took another step towards him, quietly, as though the whole world was watching. "And what if it was?"

"Then you're a woman with nothing to lose. Not even your soul."

She nodded, her blonde hair bouncing off her shoulders. The movement was vigorous, as though she'd finally found someone who understood her. "That's right. Now you understand. I can't be caught. He died so I could go free."

"You won't go free Rachel." Grissom's voice was gentle, finally bracing himself to take a step towards her.

"Not another step!" she shrieked, reinforcing her aim with the gun, now holding it with two hands. "Don't come near me!"

"We have people who can help you."

"I've never heard anyone speak so much _shit_ in a single sentence, do you know that?!" The laugh that accompanied the statement was a loud and grinding sound. "You think anyone can _help_ me!?"

Steeling himself, Grissom took yet another step, his aim being to get the gun off her. '_You're no good to Greg if you're dead,_' his mind warned him. '_I'm no good to _anyone_ if I don't do _something,' came the stern reply.

"Just give me the gun Rachel." The words were gentle. Almost soothing. Entirely devoid of anything resembling expression or tone.

She watched him for a moment, seeming to weigh up the options. Then stepped decisively towards him, brandishing the weapon and finally pointing it at his chest, pressing it against his jacket. The cold of the steel penetrated the jacket and his shirt beneath it, a small freezing circle over his heart. But he didn't flinch, he couldn't. If he flinched he would die anyway. More importantly, Greg would die.

"Whether or not I give you the gun won't change the outcome, Grissom," said Rachel, her words stern. "In a way, it's sad. I _always_ know how these things are going to end. I already know who's going to die, who's going to live in eternal damnation, and who's going to die through no fault of their own." She smirked a little, curling her finger around the trigger a little harder. "What about you? Do you ever know how it's going to end?"

"No." The word was quiet.

"Don't you ever even try to guess? It must be obvious?"

"Never."

She pondered this for a few seconds before nodding gently, her gaze never leaving Grissom's own. "Well, let me show you."

The gunshot in Tonopah was deafening.


	22. Diamond in the Rough

**Implied Connections   
Chapter 22 - Diamond in the Rough**

**By:** Braidless Baka 

**Spoilers:** Quotes in here from: 4x12 "Butterflied"; 4x10 "Coming of Rage"; and 1x21 "Justice is Served" 

**Disclaimer:** CSI and all the characters you recognise don't belong to me, any mention of Rachel Simmons or Nigel Bell mean they do belong to me. As does the betting on techs ;; 

**A/N:** As with every other chapter I've written, humongous props to RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197 for the proof reading. I shan't be asking them to do it for the remaining chapters - I'm too shamefaced after my previous disappearing act... Any remaining mistakes and errors are, of course, my own. I'd also like to express my appreciation for the reviews that continuing in my absence. Because of that this will be finished ;; Basically, I've been in a barren wasteland without internet for several months. More props to KCEstel who has also read this (though not proof-read as such) and provided feedback. 

--- 

For once, Grissom realised the crime scene wasn't going to have to speak to him. He'd seen exactly what had happened, the sickening smile on her face when she'd lifted the gun to her forehead. 

And proceeded to blow her own brains out. 

Of course, he'd rushed to her side, felt for breath, for a pulse. But, no. You don't just recover from something like that. She was dead. And nothing short of a full scale miracle was going to bring her back. 

Brass had told him, on the phone, that he should stick with the body. Just until they got there. But Brass didn't seem to understand what Rachel had implied. 

_'In a way, it's sad. I always know how these things are going to end. I already know who's going to die, who's going to live in eternal damnation, and who's going to die through no fault of their own.'_

Now, and only now, did Grissom understand what she'd been saying to him. She, Rachel, was the one to die. Greg was the one to die through no fault of his own. And Grissom... Grissom was the one who was going to live in eternal damnation. But why was Greg going to die? Decisively the crime scene analyst got to his feet. What had she done to him? 

_'Gil? Are you okay?' _

'Yeah. I'm just thinking.' 

Cautiously, Catherine asked, 'Thinking about what?' 

'Which bone in Rachel Simmons' body I'm going to break first.' 

It was obvious, he realised as he tramped through the forest, calling Greg's name desperately, what she had meant. She wanted revenge on the department. Grissom was head of that department. It was people like himself that had falsely convicted Nigel Bell and built a case strong enough to give him the death penalty. Rachel didn't care who Bell was, no more than she'd cared who Greg was. She, like so many victims, wanted closure... 

And that brought closure for her. Knowing Grissom was going to pay the price. Knowing that _someone_ was going down. Just like the families of Bell's - no, Simmons' - victims had felt closure at _someone_ paying for the deaths. Whether or not it was the right man... that just didn't figure into anything. 

But, he reminded himself sharply, battling off a sharp branch, Rachel Simmons wasn't a victim. She was a murderer and an abductor. Greg... he was just the latest victim in the crime that was Rachel Simmons' life. 

He swiped some more branches away. He was bleeding now. Not a lot, not even noticeably so, but the renegade twigs and branches had scratched up his hands. But he didn't even realise. He had to find Greg soon. He was still alive there, somewhere. 

"GREG!" he bellowed hoarsely, not for the first time, his gaze swinging about the undergrowth. "GREG!" His voice echoed eerily about him. If Greg were even able to respond, what good would it do? Would Grissom even hear him? Or would Greg be too out of it to realise who he was? 

Then, sharply it seemed, his cell phone rang. The ring was plain, like a house phone. None of those fancy jingles everyone else seemed to have. He took it up and spoke, his voice clipped. "Grissom." 

"Hey," the voice in his ear was Nick's. 

Grissom continued his search, now refraining from yelling Greg's name, but his search becoming more intent because of it. "What Nick?" 

"We're on our way over, the chopper's just about ready." 

"With - " 

"Yeah, in all it's heat seeking glory." A pause. "You find anything?" Nick voice was hopeful. 

Grissom shook his head. It was defeat. He should have found something by now. "No, nothing. Not even her car." 

Nick's voice sounded understanding. "We find the car and follow the trail?" 

"That's what I was thinking. Who's with you?" 

"Everyone." 

Grissom nodded quietly. "Figures. Stay in touch." 

"Will do." Another pause. Nick was getting good at those. "Good luck man." 

A few minutes later, the cell phone was returned to its pocket, and the frantic search continued. There had to be _something_. Anything would be better than nothing at all. The rest of the team would be there in, say, half an hour. But Greg could be dead by then. He could be dead already for all they knew. For all anyone knew. 

He was a good kid. With that thought, Grissom shoved some more tree branches aside. Now he was getting angry with himself. This wasn't something Greg deserved. 

That got Grissom thinking. What did he really know about the DNA tech? He knew that he had an irrational love of Blue Hawaiian coffee. He was into latex and scuba diving. What else? Oh yeah, he wore braces. Or at least, he had done in the past. That discovery was fairly recent, but to look at Greg it was something Grissom could easily imagine. Nobody was born with teeth like that. A grin like that usually came with serious orthodontic work. 

_'Yeah, I had it all -- palate expander, braces, retainer, head gear. Ah, five years of misery, but worth every penny, don't you think?'_

After that statement, he'd flashed a smile in Sara's direction and wandered off to meet some demand or answer some summons. He always seemed to be answering _someone's_ summons, even if he made like he wasn't. 

"GREG!" The hunt was starting to show more vigour. Old memories just made Grissom want to find Greg faster. But they kept coming. Greg was one of the most capable people he'd ever met, but he had the innate ability to talk the hind legs off a donkey. Or at least, in the figurative sense. 

_'Propylene glycol. Active ingredient in rogaine for male pattern baldness. Personally, I don't use the stuff, but my grandfather, Papa Olaf -- he was Bruce Willis at age 16. Lucky for me, baldness comes from the mother's side, so I'm safe...'_

All Grissom had learned from that exchange was that, at the time, he'd been very tired, and Greg wasn't likely to be prone to premature hair loss. He didn't really care about Papa Olaf, he hadn't then and he'd never started. 

Speaking of hair... 

_'Did you ever hear a dog say "woof-woof" Greg?'_

Greg had simply shrugged in response. He wasn't used to Grissom being so talkative, instantly suspecting something in the way of prioritising evidence. 

Grissom had continued. _'I mean, what is the origin of that? And what do we sound like to them, I wonder.'_

Greg had simply shrugged again, but this time harbouring a slight smile. _'Probably blah, blah, blah.'_

Grissom had then gone on to inquire about Greg having come with some "blah blah" for him. That day, what Greg had come up with was something they already knew about, but that didn't make him any less brilliant at his job. Nor was he any less eager because of it. He seemed like, and played up to the role of being, a goofball. But he was a likeable goofball. In fact, he had surprised everyone. He had been taken on while Brass was still the supervisor, and Brass was a man with an incredible turnover. He fired people left right and centre, or they simply left. He had high standards. Secretly the CSIs would give every tech odds of survival, usually decided by Warrick. Greg's had been... well, Grissom didn't remember his exact odds, but they had been pretty unfavourable. In fact, they consisted of him getting fired within the first two days. Greg had surprised everyone, and lasted to the present day. Even looking to move out of the lab and into the field. He'd been an unusual find, a diamond in the rough. He knew exactly what he was doing, while giving the distinct impression he was a dunce dressed in a lab coat. 

That was when Grissom's cell phone rang again. He answered it just as curtly as he had the first time. "Grissom." 

But, instead of Nick, this time it was Catherine on the other end. "We're nearly there." 

"How long?" 

"A few minutes. Should we pick you up?" 

Grissom shook his head, pushing another branch out of the way. "No, I'll stay on the ground. Let me know if there's a car or a body." 

"Ditto." 

After returning the phone to his pocket a second time, Grissom simply continued his search. "Almost there Greggo," he said, the words spoken quietly to himself. "Almost there." 

--- 

**A/N-2:** I'd just like to point out that, while I appreciate your patience up to this point - if I disappear again I beg your patience again. We're almost there, only one or two chapters to go. I'm aiming to finish before New Year. Again, I apologise for my absence. 


End file.
